Running Across a Barren Sky
by siriuslymerlin
Summary: Sirius Black is an innocent man. He's been clinging to this fact for five years, and for those same five years, Harriet Euphemia Potter has been living with her aunt and uncle, not to mention her near-insufferable cousin, just hoping that there was something better for her out there. Wolfstar raises a trio-gender-switched girl!Harri.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! So, I have seen this concept done a few times, and I'll recc my fave, so I figured I'd give it a shot. Enjoy!**

The summer of 1987 is sweltering. Even the prisoners in Azkaban can feel it, despite the constant chill from the dementors. Sirius Black is one such prison, sweating in the confines of his small cell. He sits on the floor, next to a stack of yellowing newspapers, fanning himself with one of them. He watches as Phillip Hotchkiss, who's meant to be surveying the prisoners, makes his way slowly through the compound, cowering behind his duck Patronus.

"Hullo," Sirius calls out, half just wanting to test his voice.

"Er," Hotchkiss stammers, stopping in front of his cell. "Hello, Mr. Black." Sirius snorts, raising his eyebrow. Hotchkiss is young, perhaps 18 or 19, just fresh out of school. He hasn't developed the sense to be rude and degrade the prisoners yet.

"No need to stand on ceremony, Philly," he says. "We're all friends here." Sirius pauses, frowning, and tilts his head towards the dementors crowding just beyond the Patronus's reach. "Well, except for them, I suppose."

"Er, right," Hotchkiss mutters, looking down to the paper clutched in his hand. Sirius looks at it with intrigue. It's been ages since he's last had a paper.

"Could I have that? The paper, I mean," Sirius asks, trying for a charming smile. He's not sure how it comes out, because Hotchkiss recoils, but hands over paper nonetheless.

"Cheers, mate," Sirius says brightly—well, as bright as he can get in a place like this, where his very soul seems to cling to him from a few wispy strands. "Ta very much. I rather enjoy the crossword."

"Er, sure," Hotchkiss says, a pinch louder than before. "I've got to get on, then." Sirius nods, scooting back to try and find a cool stretch of wall. Of course, with the blessed cool comes the deep, creeping dread, the kind that gnaws at you, ripping away parts of until there's just pale, dry bone. Sirius has become an expert at ignoring it.

He flicks the paper open, focusing solely at the words.

_THE GIRL WHO LIVED, WHERE IS SHE NOW?_

_Rita Skeeter_

_Not a person alive has forgotten the great and terrible day when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was defeated by a child, a blessed, powerful child perhaps, but a child nonetheless. Little Harriet Potter was only a year and a half when she vanquished him. Unfortunately, Harriet lost her parents that night as well, clearly not powerful enough to save them. But without her parents, who's left to look after her? Who's there to guide her, to teach her our ways and customs? Surely not a set of muggles? For the past six years, has little Harriet learned our ways, our traditions? Is she out frolicking with other children or shut away for her own safety. And the biggest question of them all remains: who made the decision to leave her where she is?_

_Anyways, a very happy birthday to you, little Harriet!_

The little blurb is tucked away into a corner, not really meant to be read, but her name had caught his eye instantly. A deep ache filled him, worse than anything a dementor could do, expanding within him until there was nothing else.

Harri.

He remembers the day she was born, the chaos, the panic, and the pure exhilaration. He remembers pacing frantically in James' and Lily's little house, trying desperately to reach James, who'd been out on a baby errand with Moony.

"Fuck it!" Lilly had shrieked, clutching his bicep, and scaring the shit out of him. "We're going now!" Sirius had turned pale, stuttering out excuses before Lily grabbed his shoulders and hauled him down to look her in the eye.

"Listen to me, wanker," she'd snarled. "We're going to get on your fucking bike, and we're going to fly to St. Mungo's, do you understand?"

Now, he'd never been scared of Lily, or even intimidated by her. For the nine years he'd known her, she'd been sweet, kind, and clever. In that moment, however, he had no doubt that if he didn't listen to her, she'd really make him regret it. So, he'd nodded, and helped her out to the garden, where he'd set his bike against the low wall.

He remembered roaring through the sky, mirror gripped in one hand, shouting for Prongs to get his sorry arse down to St. Mungo's, lest he miss the birth of his child.

He remembered hauling Lily up into his arms, ignoring her yelps and the way she dug her nails into his shoulder. He remembers them ushering her away, asking if he was the father, and just as he lying that he was—Lily had been terrified of the idea of doing it alone—Moony had come sprinting down the hallway, yelling that the baby was his. Clearly, he hadn't expected Sirius to do it. The healer had scowled at the both of them, perhaps about to say something particularly rude, when James had finally turned up, looking worse for wear and clutching a collection of soft toys.

"Let me guess," drawled the healer. "You're the father, too?"

"Er, yes," Prongs had gasped out. Apparently, he'd sprinted all the way here from muggle London. "I actually am though. That's my wife in there, Lily Ev—Potter."

The healer rolled her eyes, gesturing for James to go on. He grinned at her, shooting her a mock salute.

"Ta, love," he'd said. He'd shaken a stuffed deer at Sirius, who snickered and wished him luck, before disappearing though the doors. A few hours later, James had come back to where he and Moony waited, joined by Wormtail by then.

"Little girl," he'd said, beaming. "Tiny little dove with a whole head of the Potter family hair. Lils is doing just fine."

"Can we see her?" Moony asked eagerly. James nodded, gesturing for them to go back. Sirius had made to follow, but James had stopped him, suddenly somber.

"Listen," he'd started. "You're my best mate, and you were there for Lils when I wasn't."

"Aw, Prongs, don't get all emotional, now," James ducked his head, chuckling softly.

"Shut it, arsehole," he said, not a lick of malice behind his words. "I'm a dad now. I'm allowed to be as utterly naff and crap as possible."

"Oh, she'll love you for that," Sirius teased.

"Listen, though, we were thinking we'd like to make you godfather." James adopted a sly look, on corner of his mouth pulling up "The dogfather if you will."

"Fuck off," Sirius said, gob smacked. "Me? And Lils agreed to this?"

"Course, she suggested it, even," he'd said. "So? You'll do it?"

"Fuck, of course," he'd agreed. "Shit, can't swear around the baby, can I? Have to mind that."

"You and me both, mate." With that, James had steered him in. The room had been small, but warm, full of sunlight. Lily, looking exhausted, beamed at him when he walked in.

"What did he say?" she asked, voice hoarse.

"What could I have said?" he'd teased, leaning down to wrap her up in a hug and pressed a kiss to her sweaty temple.

"Good," she said resolutely. "You'll have to wait your turn to hold her. There's a queue, apparently."

Moony, who was holding her currently, stuck his tongue out, before returning to coo at the baby. Peter was skittish with her, holding her precariously before passing her along to James, who kissed her tiny forehead before gesturing to Sirius.

He remembers holding her carefully, impossibly still as he cradled her in his arms. She was the spitting image of James, with her button nose, warm brown skin, and shock of black curls. She yawned, her little pink mouth opening and closing. She blinked slowly, and Sirius found his throat was trying to close up. Her eyes were all Lily, brilliant bottle green, so clear and strong for a newborn.

"What's her name?" he choked out.

"Harriet Euphemia," Lily said softly. "For our mums."

"We're thinking Harri, though," James said. "For short."

Harri. Sirius has made it a point not to think about the poor little girl whose life he'd completely obliterated. That she was without her parents was his fault entirely. He'd been so stupid to suggest it, to tell James to change their secret keeper last second, to tell no one because they could trust no one.

Sirius sits there, pressed against the only cool spot in his cell, ignoring the dementors who swarm around outside, hoping for a taste of him. He makes it a point not to ever think of his happy memories, to play the dark ones over and over, to focus on his anger instead, laid bare before the dementors can do it for him.

Tonight, though, is different.

He can't help it, thinking about that little cottage in Godric's Hollow. It had been something of a sanctuary for him, despite being a literal cage for James. He thinks of Lily and the way she'd sweep through the cottage, Harri balanced on her hip, so thrilled to see him. He thinks of James throwing his arms around Sirius, clutching like a desperate man, angry to be put away while his friends were out fighting. He thinks of little Harri, who was already too smart and quick for her age, crawling, then walking—eventually running too—before her time.

There was a moment, when things were quiet, a few weeks after Harri's first birthday, where he'd been in their sitting room, watching Harri whilst Lily cooked lunch. He'd transformed for her—it made her laugh and clap her little hands—and was lazily trotting around the coffee table, while Harri toddled after him, determined to grab his tail.

"Pa'foo!" she'd cried, frustrated she couldn't reach him. He froze, stunned, and Harri latched onto his tail, grinning like she'd won a prize. "Pa'foo."

Lily stuck her head into the sitting room, an incredulous expression on her face.

"Did she just…?" Sirius transformed back, and Harri looked up reproachfully at him, a tiny frown on her little mouth.

"Pa'foo!" This was a demand, and Sirius barked out a laugh, transforming again to oblige her.

"James!" Lily hollered up the stairs. "Come down! You won't believe what your daughter's saying."

There was an almighty crash, then the sound of thumping footsteps before James burst into the sitting room.

"What?" Sirius barked, nudging Harri gently with his nose. She giggled, reaching up to pet him.

"Pa'foo!" James had beamed then, swooping over and swing Harri in a high arc before hugging her close.

"That's right, darling! That's Padfoot! What a clever girl! Who's a clever girl? You are!" He nuzzled her cheek and Sirius sat up, human again, cackling.

"Who's a naff dad?" Sirius teased, in the same sing-song voice James had on. "Who's the naffest dad in all of England? You are!" He tousled James' hair, ducking good-naturedly when the blushing naff dad himself took a swing.

"She really is clever," Lily said, taking Harri from James so she's be safe for the ensuing wrestling match. Sirius had been laughing too hard to really put up a good fight, so James easily tackled him to the floor. "She's up to six words now."

"Well," Sirius grunted, shoving James' face into the carpet. "I reckon this is the only that counts."

Sirius sits in that same spot for hours, straining his memory, because once he'd opened the floodgates, he might as well relish the memories. The trouble is, the good brings the pain, and with that, come hungry dementors.

It's late at night—or perhaps very early in the morning (Sirius hasn't seen the time in years now) when he remembers one of the questions the article had brought up. Was Harri safe? Was she happy? Sirius wracked his brains, wondering who'd gotten her. Euphemia and Fleamont had died in 1979, and Lily's mum and dad had died two years after that, just a few months before Lily herself had died. Who was left?

Then, it hit him.

Petunia, and oh, what was the name of her husband? The horrible one, who looked quite like a walrus in a wig. They were in Surrey, if he remembered. Or London? Maybe Cokeworth.

Had they taken in Harri? Were they kind to her? Sirius remembers the strained relationship Lily had with her sister. It was something she and Sirius bonding over, their ruined relationships with their siblings.

He had to know, he had to see, just once, that Harri was happy. How old was she now? Sirius grabs the paper and did some quick calculations. Not quite seven, then. He rolls his eye; the stupid reporter, this Skeeter woman, had gotten the date wrong.

Then, in his dark, sweltering cell, with weak shafts of moonlight streaming in through the bars, Sirius did something he hadn't done in years. He transformed.

Padfoot shakes himself, stretching and yawning. He is hungry. When had he last eaten? He pads over to the bars sniffs them inquisitively. A dementor passes by, gliding right past him. Padfoot presses against the bars, turning his head this was and that. There's a squeeze, then Padfoot's head pokes out the cell. He wriggles some more, twisting and working his limbs free.

Padfoot stumbles, gains his footing and looks around. He stares back at the cage he was in and growls softly, intent on finding something to eat. The dementors floating above pay him no mind, swooping over the other cages. The humans cry out, some wail and weep, but others just scream. Some are silent.

There is nothing on the island, but not too far, there is another patch of rock. Padfoot bounds into the icy, dark water and swims. It feels like an eternity before he has made it to the next patch of land. Exhausted and cold, Padfoot shakes himself dry and curls up against himself. There will be nothing to eat now.

He wakes to warmth, light from the setting sun drenching him. For a moment, he wavers, Sirius and Padfoot battling to be in control. Padfoot wins. He opens one eye lazily, holding himself still. There are birds here, squawking and picking at the barren ground. The one closest to him hasn't noticed his presence.

Carefully, slowly, Padfoot pulls himself up, tensing to pounce. The bird stills for a second, before resuming it's pecking. Padfoot pounces, lightning quick, and catches the bird between his teeth. Blood, rich and inviting, coats his tongue, and he savors it for a brief moment before jerking violently, snapping the bird's neck. The other birds scatter, squawking and shrieking. Padfoot pays them no mind, gulping down the meat he rends from it's body. It's not much, a few mouthfuls, but it'll do for now.

There's a few scant trees on this patch of rock, and Padfoot curls under one of them, inexplicably exhausted. The sky darkens overhead, thunder rolling. Padfoot presses himself to the tree close, determined to stay dry. The rain is quick but heavy, drenching the world and cutting through the oppressive heat, even if for a moment. It's nearly morning by the time Padfoot gives up his hiding place.

There are a few puddles of clean water amidst the rock, and Padfoot gulps down his share, shaking himself dry. Somewhere, deep in his mind, Sirius recoils, but then he remembers the years in the cell, that freedom tastes good enough to make up this.

There are more islands, past this, and vaguely, in the distance, Padfoot can see a bigger land. He'll go there, he decides, before plunging himself into the water once more.

Padfoot doesn't know how many days he swims and stops, but it goes on and on until he can feel Sirius slowly slipping away. Finally, he comes up on the shore as the sun sets on what could be the seventh or eighth day. Padfoot slumps on the sand, lowering his head, and letting Sirius come back to him.

Sirius gasps, weighed down by his hair and his dripping prisoners robes. He looks around, finding a solitary gray building. He knows this place, vaguely. His mind is hazy from having spent so much time as Padfoot.

An office, he realizes, for the administrative work to be done for the prisoners of Azkaban. Also, if he remembers correctly, where they stow wands for prisoners awaiting trial. After five horribly long years, that still includes him. He staggers over to the tree, hiding behind one to watch.

A young man slips out from the building, waving his wand before disappirating. Sirius creeps over to the building slowly, trying the door. Of course, it's locked. He sighs, then reaches for a fallen tree branch, bracing himself. There's no way this will be controlled.

"Alohomora," he tries. The front wall of the build explodes, sending Sirius sailing. He groans as he hits the hard ground. Sirius sits up carefully, checking himself for injury. A few bruises, but he'll live.

"God, I fucking hate uncontrolled magic," he croaks, getting up and heading inside the remains of the building. Thankfully, it's not as trashed as he thought it would be. Sirius picks his way through the rubble, looking for files.

One of the few sheaf's of parchment intact catches his eye. Bellatrix Lestrange. Sirius grins darkly. Good, he thinks, let her rot.

Thankfully, the blast breaks open the cabinet meant to be holding wands. A dozen or so unmarked boxes tumble out, and Sirius has to dig to find his. He grabs it, hoisting it up triumphantly. A rush of brightness rips through him. He feels electric, alive, likes he's just been jolted awake.

To practice, Sirius puts the building back to rights, which doesn't take long. He's happy to do it, happy to feel the magic coursing through his veins. The building looks normal after a few hours, but it's terribly dark, so he shifts back into Padfoot, gripping the wand between his teeth.

Padfoot trots a long time, until the first few rays of morning light. He sits up on top of a hill, outside a town called Corsham, watching the sun rise. There's no one around, so he shifts back to Sirius and lays in the lush grass.

The sun is warm, but it's a welcome heat, kind and gentle. The air is sweet here, where he can no longer smell the saltwater. Sirius savors the moment, unsurprised he's weeping, even though he'd never really been the crying type.

Freedom, he thinks, freedom, then Harri.

**A/N: Let me know what you think, and I'll see you next week, updates every Wednesday!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey gang! Still working out the lengths of chapters and the perspectives, so please let me know if there's something unclear, or if you're left wanting. Enjoy!**

In Little Whinging, there's only one play park the children like to spend their time in during the summer holidays, and it's the one past the neighborhoods, closest to town, where you can smell the chippy if there's enough of a breeze.

There are around twenty children around, but not a parent in sight. It's been three days since term ended, and the parents of St. Grogery Primary school are already at wits end with their children. Even Petunia Dursley, who's been known to wax poetic about her son to anyone who'll listen, sent her children off to play, so she could lounge in the cool kitchen, spying on Mrs. Next Door.

Of course, Mrs. Dursley will also tell anyone who'll listen she only has one child, and that the spare is simply that, a spare.

Harriet Euphemia Potter did not look like her aunt, uncle, or cousin. For starters, her skin was a warm brown color, and the most color the Dursleys got was patchy red from being in the sun too long. Her hair was a wild mane of black curls, long for a six-year-old. No matter how Petunia hacked at it, it simply grew back, unkempt as ever.

They'd sit in the kitchen, Harri kneeling between Petunia's bony knees, as she yanked a comb through the veritable sheet of curls.

"This is all your father's fault," Petunia would hiss, holding up the latest comb that had been sacrificed to Harri's hair. There would always be teeth that had snapped off, the plastic unable to hold its own against the thick curls.

"Unkempt!" she'd snarl. "It seems to be hereditary."

Harri would try to explain that she always took care to comb her hair after her bath, and it sat nicely then, but she couldn't plait her hair, so it always became messy. However, Aunt Petunia was not a fan of that excuse.

"Why won't you ask one of your little playmates to plait it for you," Aunt Petunia would sniff, pushing Harri away. Harri would frown, wondering why she'd ask knowing full well Harri didn't have any friends. "I certainly don't have the time to sit there every morning and plait your hair."

Harri also had bottle green eyes, a stark variation from her 'family's' pale blue eyes. Aunt Petunia would bring herself to tears over Dudley, who had fine blond hair and pale blue eyes, calling him a "darling angel, a gorgeous cherub." Personally, Harri rather thought he looked like a pig in blond wig, considering his immense size. He looked to be about nine or ten, instead of six. Uncle Vernon would chortle and ruffle Dudley's hair, blathering on about all the hearts he'd break one day.

Harri was small, too. In fact, she looked more like a child of four than a soon to be seven-year-old. Her arms and legs were twiggy, her frame slight. Her ribs poked out and the notches of her spine were prominent. Still, she didn't look sickly or frail, and for this reason, she was a favorite target for the bigger boys.

Today, Harri plays at the corner of the park, away from the equipment. She's playing potions, a favorite of hers. She could only play out here, because the last time she'd played in the house, Uncle Vernon had absolutely lost his top, turning so profoundly red, he looked like a radish with a mustache. He'd grabbed Harri by her wrist and swung her into her 'room'—which was really the cupboard under the stairs—and bolted it shut, hissing she'd have no more meals until she'd had time to reflect on her actions.

This was a favorite punishment of Uncle Vernon's. He was employing it currently, because Harri had come home on the last day of term with a bad conduct mark. Apparently, the school had found her climbing the building, though she'd insisted over and over again that she hadn't. How she'd found herself on the roof was a mystery. She'd been trying to hide from the boys of class 1A, her cousin's class, when she run to the side of the school, where the bins were. All she'd planned on doing was hopping up onto the bins, perhaps hiding there, but a sudden burst of wind had carried her up.

"You are a very naughty little girl," Headmistress Roemmele had said. "It's very unladylike to be climbing at all!"

So Harri had been dismissed from the house without her breakfast or lunch, but she didn't mind. In fact, she'd been excited to have the afternoon to herself, to mix her potions.

"Oi," someone calls. "Potty!"

Harri stiffens, pretending not to hear. If she cried, the boys would call her a pathetic, wet little girl, but if she fought, the girls would call her a beast. Harri figured eventually, once the boys stopped picking on her, she could get some of the girls to play dolls with her. She even had one now. A few weekends ago, Aunt Petunia had gone shopping, and was forced to tote Harri around as well, as Mrs. Figg, the woman who usually watched her, had bridge Saturday afternoons.

Harri had been admiring a particularly interesting doll, so old and faded her skin almost looked brown, when the shopkeeper had smiled and asked Aunt Petunia if she'd wanted to buy it for her. Harri had almost laughed right then and there, and Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd swallowed a lemon.

"It's only 90 p," the shopkeeper offered. To Harri's immense surprise, Aunt Petunia huffed and began digging through her purse for change. She produced a single quid and thrust it into Harri's hand. Harri had happily made her purchase and thanked Aunt Petunia until she snapped that Harri's voice gave her a headache.

So far, though, Harri had not been asked to join the other girls to play princess, but she hoped it would only be a matter of time.

"Oi, Potty! We're talking to you!" Piers Polkiss, one of Dudley's mates, grabs her shoulder and spins her around. "What's the little girl got?"

"You're playing potions," Dudley sneers. "You're not allowed. I'll have to tell Mummy and Daddy!"

"Gonna go crying to mummy then," Harri sneers right back, hands planted on her hips. "Go on, Diddy."

Several children, who'd stopped to watch this exchange, snicker, and Dudley goes puce. Harri smiles sweetly at him.

"Go on, Dinky Diddydums," Harri says, triumphant. "Go on and tell mummy all about the naughty girl who scared ickle Diddykins."

"Shut up!" Dudley roars, throwing himself at Harri. She sprints away, dodging his blows. Piers looks decidedly uncomfortable as one of the bigger kids makes his way over, just as Dudley grabs her by the hair and shakes her about.

"Oi!" he says. "Leave that girl alone! Can't you see she's not even in school yet?" The entire play yard snickers as the boy, perhaps the oldest here at 11 years old, crouches down.

"Do you know where you live?" he asks, as if he's talking to a very small child. Harri blanches. "I'll help you home."

"I am in school. I'll going to class two at the start of term!" The boy rears back, surprised.

"Oh," he says, stepping aside. "Tetchy little thing, innit?" Piers and Dudley decide this is much funnier than anything they could've dished out and begin howling with laughter. The boy shrugs, hiding a smile and going back to his own mates.

Harri stalks off, abandoning her game. For a while, she wanders around, going up and down the main street, looking longingly into the chippy. She watches the ducks in the pond for a bit, but this becomes boring, and she ends up back at the park, rebuilding her set.

The sun is low in the sky now, but Harri doesn't mind. Harri loses herself in her game. There, she's a girl in a traveling show, who makes special potions. She's making a potion to make friends, to give to all the people who come to see the show. Harri hums tunelessly, ripping up grass and sprinkling it into the puddle she's been playing it. She stares back at her handiwork, but it needs something.

"Flowers," she mumbles to herself. Harri spots a bush nearby, with little yellow blooms dotting it. She heads over and that's when she see's it. The dog.

A huge, black, bearlike dog.

She blinks at it and it blinks back. Harri stands there frozen. The dog takes a step forward and she flinches, shutting her eyes and waiting.

Sirius makes his way through Corsham carefully, stealing into one of the shops and filching an old overcoat. It does nothing for the heat, but it hides his prisoners robes well enough. Then, he nabs a phonebook. It takes hours, but he finally finds the Dursley's, or at least, Vernon. He's listed as head of sales for a company called Grunnings, which sounds appropriately tedious.

Sirius hangs around in as many consignment shops in London as possible, building up an outfit and a spare, all shoved into a rucksack. He feels terrible for stealing, but he's got no money, nor can he do any magic, lest the Department of Magical Law find him.

Grunnings is a huge building in Surrey's bustling city center. Sirius hangs about, watching the people coming and going, trying to guess which one was Vernon Dursley. He finds after a few hours, one of the last stragglers, looking just as big as Sirius remembers, clutching a bag of pastries.

Following him home is a bit difficult, but Sirius manages, and he finds himself in Little Whinging, a quiet sort of town where all the houses looked the same and all the husbands worked for the same few companies.

Sirius watched the house as Padfoot carefully. He hid in a bush across the street, waiting for a glimpse of Harri. He got it the next morning, as the children were going to school, and he simply stood there, surprised. This was not the scene he'd imagined at all!

He'd recognized Harri immediately, but she was small in the extreme, dwarfed in her school uniform. Her cousin—Sirius couldn't remember his name—was much the opposite, big and hulking which was surprising, considering they were the same age.

Petunia, looking as thin and horse-like as ever, gives her son a good hug, pressing kisses to his pink face. Harri stands a few feet away, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Petunia looks over to her, frowning.

"Behave yourself, today," she says sharply to Harri, who sighs before nodding. "Don't be rude!" With that, she pinches Harri's arm before pushing her along. Sirius snarls, low and guttural. Harri doesn't yelp or cry, but she does flinch.

And so, it goes, for four days, that Sirius sits outside of Number 4 Privet drive and watches as Harri is prodded, poked, screamed at, and ignored. He seethes with silent fury every time she's made to do a chore she's not old enough for. Every muscle in his body tenses when Vernon grabs her by the shoulder or wrist, always shaking her tiny body.

Harri never yells back, but she mutter a great deal under her breath, and sometimes, when she's made to be tending the garden—what six year old should be handling a push mower?—he can hear her clever little remarks.

She's incredibly intelligent, witty, and resilient, and Sirius's heart breaks for James and Lily who never got to know just how wonderful their kid was.

On the last day of term, the second day of Sirius's vigil, Petunia drags Harri inside, hissing vitriol. From what Sirius can make out, she's in trouble for climbing to the top of the school, which in and of itself is odd. He sincerely doubts she'd be able to make the climb with her spindly little limbs.

This, however, doesn't occur to the Dursley's because Sirius can hear them yelling clear all the way outside, even as a human. They shut her up in house all weekend, only worrying Sirius further. What kind of punishments could they give her, if they could treat her like they do normally.

Sirius thinks back to his own painful childhood, of being forced inside the airing cupboard when he was "naughty", of suffering Walabugra's pinches and slaps, of Orion's sharp hits and kicks. He remembers being sixteen, caught in a fight with his father, wondering why the hell he put up with this, and just as Orion's fist collided with his jaw, Sirius had decided "no more" and left.

Harri isn't sixteen, though, and she'll need someone to decide for her. That job falls to Sirius. So, on the fourth day of his Vigil, as Harri and her cousin are banished from the house, Padfoot follows them to the park, finding a place in the bushes to hide and watch.

He watches as Dudley and his mate torment her, as the older boy embarrasses her, and finally, hours later, as she plays quietly by herself. Potions, he thinks with a smile. Lily would be so damn proud.

It's then that she sees him.

Harri stands there, eyes shut, waiting for Sirius to make his move. He's a little surprised she hasn't screamed, but then again, she's got that old Gryffindor spirit in her. He transforms back, standing carefully before her. He's dressed in his muggle clothes, old jeans and an pale grey woolen jumper. It was the only this he could snatch, so he'd risked a cooling charm on the jumper.

"Hello," he says, clearing his throat a little. Harri opens her eyes, astonished to find Sirius there. She looks around, then back at Sirius.

"Hello," she says politely. "Excuse me, but, have you seen a dog? A great, big black dog? He was just here."

"Maybe he'll be back," Sirius says noncommittally. "What are you playing?"

Harri regards him curiously, and suddenly, Sirius can't imagine how this looks, a grungy looking man talking to this small child.

"Er, it's just," he fumbles to explain. "My name is Padfoot."

"Hullo," Harri repeats. "Mine's Harri, er, Harriet." Sirius quirks an eyebrow.

"Which is it? Harri, or Harriet?" he asks. Harri looks a bit lost but raises her chin.

"Just Harri, thanks.

"Do you often play alone Harri?" he asks, squatting beside her. Harri shrugs without looking at him.

"Sometimes," she admits softly. She clears her throat and looks at him head-on with clear, unafraid eyes. "I don't mind."

"Is your cousin always like that," he asks, moving back so she can pluck the flowers from the bush.

"I can mind Dudley," Harri says, which, without answering the question, says a lot.

"Do you like your aunt and uncle?" This earns a peculiar look from Harri, who regards him a little coolly.

"Do you know them?" she asks. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"I did know them," he confesses. "Actually, I knew your mum and dad, as well." Harri's eyes light up and a slow smile spreads across her face.

"Really! You know them?" Harri stops, considering the flowers in her hands. "They're dead though. They died in a car crash a long time ago, when I was a baby. It's how I got this." She brushes back her fringe, revealing the thin lightning shaped scar. Sirius grits his teeth, surprised.

"A car crash? Who told you that?" he asks, working to keep his voice level. What a cruel lie to tell to a child.

"My Aunt Petunia," Harri says simply, walking back to her puddle and depositing the flowers. She stirs the concoction with a stick before nodding at it. "How did you know my parents?"

**A/N: Hey gang, hope you enjoyed! We're getting into some explanations, so stay tune and leave a comment telling me what you thought.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Posting a bit early, but hope you enjoy!**

"We were at school together," Sirius admits. He can understand why they wouldn't have said anything about him. Petunia and her husband had probably swallowed up the same lie the wizarding world had. "At Hogwarts. We were all Gryffindors together." This seemed particularly important for Harri to get. Perhaps she'd understand him better if she knew his house.

"What's that?" Harri asks, looking up at him now, tilting her head like a cat. Sirius blanches, confused. He'd known the houses and their prominent figures before he could do up his own shoelaces.

"Hogwarts," he says slowly. "Our school."

"Is that here? In Surrey?" Harri sits back on her heel's giving him her full attention now.

"What? No, it's in Scotland," Sirius says, incredulous. "Harri, haven't your aunt and uncle told you about Hogwarts? Aren't you excited to go?"

"I still have to go to St. Grogery's," Harri says. "I'll be in class two next term."

"After your primary school," Sirius prompts, waiting for her to catch on.

"Hm, 'spect I'll be going to Stonebrigde High School," Harri says glumly. "That's where they naughty children go."

Sirius feels as though he's been slapped. Did she genuinely not know? Sirius crouches next to her, looking her right in the eyes. Harri meets his eye, unperturbed.

"Harri, you'll go to Hogwarts, where your mum and dad went. It's where you'll learn it all," Sirius explains. Harri huffs, frustrated now. Sirius blinks uncertainly; had he made her angry? Fuck, he was pure shite with children.

"Learn what? What's Hogwarts for?" she demands, crossing her little arms. Then she deflates, shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just, I'm a bit lost."

Sirius grins at her politeness, shrugging.

"Don't apologize. Hogwarts is where young witches and wizards learn their magic. That where I met your parents, and—and the others." Harri looks around, a nervous expression overtaking her face. She steps closer, and suddenly, it occurs to Sirius that she's scared.

"Magic isn't real," she says. "There's no such thing as witches and wizards."

It sounds rehearsed, like Harri's heard this over and over again until the words had stuck. Sirius scowls, stands abruptly. Harri stumbles back, surprised.

"Right," he mutters, seething. "Right! We're going to Petunia's house."

"Um, I don't think I'm allowed to—"

"Never mind, just follow me!" With that, he shifts to Padfoot, ignoring her little outburst of surprise. He trots down the road, following the familiar scent to Number 4, Privet drive. Harri keeps up with him, surprisingly fast for a girl of not-yet-seven.

Sirius jolts up suddenly, staggering a bit at the sudden change. He gestures for Harri to go ahead, and after a minute of uncertainty, she does, knocking on the door. It opens almost immediately, and Sirius finds himself face to face with Petunia Dursley, someone he hasn't seen in a long time.

"You!" she hisses, breathless. Her face is even thinner in person, long and angular. She really couldn't be considered a pretty woman, he decides.

"Aunt Petunia, do you know him?" Harri pipes up, only for Petunia to immediately shush her.

"Get inside, the pair of you, before anyone sees," she says, rushing the pair of them inside. "You, into the kitchen!" Sirius is bodily shoved down the narrow hallway over to the kitchen. Petunia turns to Harri, who moves to follow. "Not a chance! Go to the cu—go to your room!"

Harri sighs, but she doesn't go one upstairs, like Sirius expects. Instead, she opens the cupboard under the stairs and steps inside. Sirius doesn't get a minute to dwell on it because Petunia shoves him further inside and slams the door.

"You'll have to be quick," she says, hands on her hips. "Vernon will be home soon and I don't want you around."

"I've watched you, you know," he says coolly, immediately fighting back the urge to cringe. Cor, does he sound like a loon or what? "You're not very good to her."

"You've got no idea," Petunia sputters, flushing pink. "The most difficult child ever! All her teachers have run out of ideas!"

"She seems perfectly lovely to me," Sirius contradicts her.

"Of course, she would, you're one of her kind." Petunia fusses about the kitchen, putting things away. "What do you want?"

"Harri doesn't know about anything," Sirius says. "She doesn't even know about magic!"

"Well! I swore when we took her in, we wouldn't have one! Look what it did to my sister!"

"Don't you dare talk about her—"

"Petunia, love, I'm home, have you made the tea—"

In that moment, Vernon Dursley burst into the room, or really, waddled energetically in, a jovial smile on his face that quickly fades away. He looks from Petunia to Sirius, squinting like he couldn't place who Sirius was.

"Who's this, then?" Vernon asks, arms crossed and mustache quivering. Petunia looks suddenly frightened, hurrying over to her husband.

"He's, well, he's one of my sister's people—"

"What!" Vernon cries, going promptly puce, mustache quivering so hard it threatened to fall off. "Out! I want you out!"

"I'm not leaving," Sirius says stubbornly. "I came to make sure Harri was looked after, that she was happy, and you've clearly failed her. You haven't explained anything to her, not about her parents, about Hogwarts, or even magic itself!"

"There's no such thing as magic!" Vernon barks. "You're ill!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Sirius groans. Sighing, he brings out his wand and levitates a teacup, one of the only things Petunia hadn't put away in her haste to keep Sirius from filching anything.

"How'd you do that?" Harri pokes her head into the kitchen, eyes as big as saucers. Not even a second later, Dudley shoves her roughly to the ground and hurries in, coming to stand a bit behind his father, looking equally intrigued.

"You made that cup float! Are you some sort of magician?" the boy asks.

"THERE'S. NO. SUCH. THING. AS. MAGIC!" Vernon yells. "Girl! Get back in your room!"

There's a moment where everyone's gone silent, stunned by Vernon's outburst. Sirius looks at him curiously. How can he stand there and deny magic, when Sirius knows for a fact he's seen it? Maybe he's the ill one.

"Listen, mate," Sirius starts, decidedly unsure where he's going with this. "Harri deserves better—"

"If she's going to be living under this roof, she'll have to follow my rules!" Vernon interrupts, looking triumphant. "We're the only family she's got left." Sirius cocks his head, an idea springing to life.

"Right," he says, mostly to himself. "Actually, you're not the only family she's got."

"What?" Petunia asks. "My parents have passed, and so have Potter's."

"Right, well, there's always me," Sirius says, smiling perhaps the first genuine smile he's smiled in years. "I am her godfather."

Harri, who'd been in the process of leaving the kitchen, whirls around, shocked.

"Godfather?" she exclaims. "You're here to get me!"

"Er." Sirius find his will power crumbling, fuck she looks just like James, bright and excited, and so happy with him. Some buried part of Sirius resurfaces, the part that aches to be liked, to be needed. "I suppose."

"She can't go," Petunia says quietly. "That headmaster explained it to me, about the wards, about Li—my sister's sacrifice."

"I can keep her safe," Sirius decides. He's not too sure what Petunia means, she must be confused. Vernon and Petunia exchange a look, and Harri bounces on her toes, eager.

"Well," Vernon decides, breaking the tentative silence. "If you're her godfather, there's nothing stopping you, is there?" He looks gleeful, in a terrible sort of way.

"Right," Sirius says, trying to bolster himself. "Right! Harri, go and get your things." She doesn't need to be told twice, scampering back to the cupboard. The other boy, Dudley, looks at him with wide eyes.

"Is she really leaving?" the boy asks, tugging on his mum's skirt. Petunia looks gob smacked, blinking rapidly and pursing her lips, but Vernon nods eagerly.

"She's going to live with her own kind now," he says haughtily. "Better this way, really."

"Damn right," Sirius growls, anxieties forgotten in the face of his anger. A minute later, Harri skips back in, a small rucksack hanging from her boney shoulders.

"Ready," she says, beaming up at Sirius.

"That's all you want to take?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. Harri shrugs.

"It's all I have," she says bluntly. With that, she turns to the Dursley's. "Goodbye. We'll write."

"Yes," Petunia says, deliberating. "Well… try to keep your hair tidy."

"Go on!" Vernon says enthusiastically, all but shoving Sirius and Harri out the door. "Can't waste the daylight hours!"

The door slams shut and the two of them simply stand there a second, stunned. Sirius feels good, in a strange sort of way, like taking off layers in a dry heat.

"I'll take your bag," he says, holding his hand out. Harri hesitates but passes the rucky over. It's surprisingly heavy for its size, Sirius notes as he slings it over a shoulder. The sun blazes brightly and as they're making their way out of the neighborhood, Sirius realizes how colossally underprepared he is. He's not a parent—hell, he wasn't even a good older brother. He doesn't even know what children eat.

"Do you like chips?" he asks abruptly. He has a few bills of muggle money stuffed in one pocket, but he has no idea if it'll be enough to buy them a lunch.

"Yeah," Harri says. "Where are we going to go now? Where do you live?"

Right, they'll need somewhere to lay low, somewhere Sirius can think and plan out their next move. Maybe he can take her far away, where no one's even heard of them.

"Er, let's just get something to eat first, yeah?" he says. There's a chippy on the corner of the street, looking comfortably deserted. They duck in, and Harri chooses a corner table, dropping onto the vinyl seat. Sirius sets her bag by his chair.

"What would you like?" he asks, pulling out the bills.

"They do a good kebab here," she says hopefully, eyes wide. "Are really yum chips."

"Right," he mutter, holding up some of the bills. "Will this be enough, do you reckon?"

"20 quid!" she exclaims softly. "You could buy so much with that!" Sirius laughs pocketing the rest and heading up to the counter.

"Er, hiya," he says, catching the attention of the haggard looking chef. She ambles over, banging on the register. Sirius doesn't have too much experience in muggle shops, but Lily had taken them out a few times. Honestly, it wasn't too different than normal.

"What'll you have?" she asks, voice monotonous.

"Er, two kebabs, two orders of chips, and two teas, please." The woman nods, jotting it down in near unrecognizable handwriting.

"£10.50," she says. Sirius hands her the bill and she hands him a smaller one, as well as a bunch of coins. "Be out in a mo."

Sirius takes a seat, and for a second, he can't think of a single thing to say to her. He's been gone for six years of her life, and now suddenly, they're together again.

"Where were you? Before, I mean. Why did you only come to get me now?" Harri asks, seemingly reading his mind. Sirius flounders, because he doesn't want to lie to her, but he doesn't want to scare her. How much should a seven-year-old know anyways? Thankfully, he's saved from conversation because they're food comes out.

Harri waits patiently, hands folded in front of her, eyeing the food. Sirius quirks an eyebrow; is he supposed to do something to it?

"Go on," Sirius says, pushing one of the kebab plates towards her and taking the other for himself. He pours out some tomato sauce and takes a bite, gesturing for Harri to do the same.

"This whole plate is for me?" she asks wondrously. Sirius forces himself not to think of the implication and nods, slapping on a smile. She doesn't need to be told twice and digs in with gusto, eating happily. Soon enough, her fingers and mouth are smeared with grease, but she looks quite pleased.

Sirius leans over the table, napkin in hand, to mop up some of the grease. Harri squirms a little, scrunching up her little face—fuck, she looks like James when she does that—but complies, letting him clean her up.

"Where are we going to go now?" she asks, hopping down from her seat. Sirius nabs the rucky and stands, stretching out his limbs. The food had been surprisingly good, but Sirius chocks that up to it being his first human meal in weeks.

"We'll have to find somewhere safe," he says, leading her out of the shop. Sirius wracks his brain, trying to think of a single person he can trust, who, in turn, might trust him. Suddenly, it occurs to him. The one person in the world they can trust.

Moony. They have to find Remus Lupin.

**A/N: Anyways, get ready for the wolfstar reunion! Let me know what you thought!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey gang! So, I'm playing with perspectives a little, so please let me know how it works out. Hope you enjoy!**

Remus Lupin is fine. He's currently working a job in muggle bookshop, and it's fine. It's quiet and he gets on well with the owner, an older woman called Dot. He's had the same flat he's had for the past six years and it's fine. The rent is still the same and it's cozy, in a cramped sort of way. He goes to the same pub he's gone to every Wednesday night—save for the full moons—for his weekly supper out and it's fine. He doesn't really talk to many people but that's fine too.

Really, he's fine.

Honest.

It's the day after a particularly uncomfortably full moon and every part of his body aches. Remus balances a stack of books on one arm, shelving them with the other.

"Mr. Lupin!" Dot calls as the bell on the door chimes. "I need assistance." Remus sighs, setting the stack down. He stretches carefully, trying to ease the strain in his shoulders. "Hurry! There's a great big animal in front of the store!"

"What?" he mutters, hurrying over. Dot's cowering behind the counter, pointing to the glass door. "What?" he repeats.

"There was this great big beast!" she gasps. "Just there! I don't know where it's gone."

"What sort of beast?" Remus asks carefully. He still feels particularly wolf-like, all of his senses buzzing. There's something here, something big and familiar, but he doesn't think it's dangerous.

"It was big and black," Dot stutters out. "Maybe a dog or a bear!"

"A bear in London?" Remus asks, trying desperately not to smile. Just a dog then. Dot's terrified of them. He can't imagine what she's do it she found out about Remus.

"Well," she sniffs. "Obviously not. A dog, I meant. A big, horrible dog. Won't you go see that it's gone, please?"

Remus sighs, nodding. He guides Dot into her office in the back, settling her in her desk chair. Merlin, he doesn't need this, not today. All he wants to do is find a quiet spot and a decent book, hide from customers.

"Why don't you have a rest, Dot?" he says. "I'll make you a cuppa, alright?"

"I did have a rather difficult night," Dot says. "Tedious in the extreme."

"Poor dear," Remus says as sympathetically as he can manage. He keeps his back to her while he starts the kettle, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, remember, darling, I can't have any milk or sugar in it," Dot says, completely at ease now. "Trying to lose a few."

"Whatever for?" Remus asks, unable to help the bit of charm that slips into his voice. Dot giggles, patting his cheek.

"Naughty boy," she says. "Oh, leave the dog. I'm sure it's gone." Remus doesn't bother to hide his grin.

"Well, I'll get back to the shelving then, Dot," he says. "Just try and relax."

"Thank you, pet," she says. "What would I do without you?"

"Let's try not to find out," Remus calls, making his way back to his spot. He finishes the remnants of the shelving and plucks something from the historical fiction section and settling in the warm spot by the window.

Remus can't focus on the book, though, his mind far away. He's thinking of Hogwarts, of his old friends, things he hasn't thought about in years.

His throat works, and no matter how hard he tries to push away the thoughts, they won't leave him. He remembers playful pranks, the way he'd talk their way out of trouble. He's always had a rather non-threatening face, and people just couldn't believe he could possibly be the culprit behind anything. He'd learned to expand, talk James and Sirius innocent for their many, many infringements.

Sirius—

No. He won't think of him. He doesn't deserve to be thought of.

Remus slams the book shut and sighs, looking at the old clock hanging nearly sideways on the far wall. Only a few more hours left. He can do this.

Finally, seven rolls around and Remus sends Dot on her way, promising he'll lock up for her, he's just got a few bits and bobs to sort out. He picks his way through the store, straightening the books and finishing off the last of the shelving.

The moon is high in the sky by the time he finishes, just barely waning. He glares at it, feeling considerably more angry than he has in months. What for, he couldn't tell you. It is Wednesday, and he is due into the pub for his supper, but Remus really can't muster the energy to go in. Besides, there looks to be a hen night on when he passes it.

He makes his way to his apartment, shoving open the door with more force than strictly necessary, and dumping his things in a pile by the coat rack. Merlin, he's exhausted. Stretching and yawning, Remus stumbles into the kitchen, intent on making some tea. A nice cup of tea will make things better, he thinks.

Technically, he does live in muggle London, so he's not too keen on using magic, but he really can't be arsed to turn on the hob, so he points his wand at it, grinning as it ignites. Since he's already got it out, he fills the kettle with a quick charm and sends it on its way to boil.

Finally, he thinks, dropping heavily onto the ancient futon. His muscles ache at the way he slumps so he squirms, trying to find a comfortable position. As soon as he does, the doorbell chimes. Of fucking course.

Remus grumbles as he pulls himself up, but before he can get the door, he stops, every instinct screaming. It's that same presence, he realizes, from the store earlier. His heart begins to race and his breaths come in shallow pants. Gingerly, he opens the door.

Sirius Black is standing in his doorway.

Suddenly, he's seventeen years old again, a foolish boy who thought he was invincible, surrounded by the people he loved best in the world. A stupid teenager with a heart threatening to overflow, aching both in the best and worst ways, so terribly in love that it burns.

_Sirius. Padfoot. _

Sirius Black is standing in his doorway, and it looks like he's not alone.

Harri was immediately convinced Padfoot was the very best person in the whole world. He spoke kindly to her, made her laugh, and bought a whole plate of kebabs and chips for her. After eating, he'd told her they were off to find another friend of her father's.

Harri had spent ages imagining her father and mother, pretending the crash wasn't real and that one day, they were going to come roaring up Privet Drive to get her. She didn't know why, but she'd always imagined they'd drive up on a motorbike. She dreamt of it often.

Now, she had her father's friends! The real people meant to take care of her. Maybe they'd live in a nice house with a big garden, and Padfoot could show her how to do magic. He could turn into a dog, and Harri thought she'd very much like to learn.

As a dog, Padfoot lead Harri all through London. She'd been once before, but she was a bit nervous. Still, she resolved not to let Padfoot think she was scared. He might look at her and decide she was too much of a baby for their adventures and send her packing off to the Dursley's again.

They'd ended up walking up and down the same street for hours, passing the same few bookshops and cafes. Harri didn't mind. She chattered away to Padfoot, telling him all about school, the games she'd play, and the strange people she'd see sometimes, wearing weird dresses and smiling widely at her.

Padfoot the dog was actually lovely, and not a bit scary. His eyes were the prettiest grey color she'd ever seen, and she could just tell he was listening. He was also nice to pet, though his fur was a bit scraggly. It didn't matter to her; her own hair was a mess, hanging in a curly sheet to her back.

Finally, when it got a bit darker, Padfoot and Harri followed a man from one of the bookshops. He didn't notice them at all, but Harri thought he might be the friend Padfoot had mentioned. He looked sad, but Harri thought a visit from his friends might cheer him up. She would've loved that.

Once the man had gone inside, Padfoot the dog had become Padfoot the person again, and he crouched down to grip Harri's shoulders.

"Listen, love, just let me do the talking, alright?" Padfoot says. Harri nods, suddenly nervous.

"I thought he was dad's friend," she whispers. "Won't he know about me?"

"Of course he does, it just that… well, he might not like me very much," Padfoot mutters, looking away.

"Why?" she asks, tilting her head. Padfoot opens his mouth, but snaps it shut and shakes his head.

"I'll explain later," he says. "Stay behind me."

Suddenly, Harri's scared and does what she's told. The man hadn't looked scary before, but Padfoot sounded worried. She clutches his trouser leg, peeking around him. Padfoot rings the buzzer, and for a moment, they both hold their breath.

The door swings open and the man looks at them, the strangest expression on his face. He looks from Harri to Sirius in rapid succession, more and more upset.

"_What. The. Fuck?" _he hisses through clenched teeth. Harri shrinks against Padfoot, clutching hard.

"Moony, I need you to—"

"Do not call me that!"

"Remus, then—"

"Where did you come from? How did you get out?" Moony—Remus, Harri wasn't sure—asks, still decidedly angry.

"Listen, it's a long story, but you have to—"

"The only thing I have to do is call the aurors!" he explodes. "Why isn't it in the papers? What did you do?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Padfoot snarls. "Let us in! I'll explain it all, just trust me." Stunned, Remus—maybe Moony?—steps aside to let them pass. Harri clings to Padfoot, deciding she doesn't like this man, not one bit.

"Trust you?" he scoffs. "Fat chance."

"Shut up for a mo, alright?" Padfoot says, gently detaching Harri from his trousers. "You're scaring her."

Suddenly, she's angry. Who is this man to talk to Padfoot like that? She's dealt with bullies before and she's done with them.

"I'm not afraid!" she declares, stepping on the man's foot as hard as she can. He stumbles back, swearing, but his mouth twitches. Padfoot lets out a bark of laughter, pulling Harri towards him.

"Harri, this is Moony, alright? He was one your dad's best friends, remember?" She did, but he wasn't acting like a friend at all! "He's going to help us."

"Quite a foot, you've got, young lady," Moony says, arching an eyebrow at her. He reminds Harri a bit of a school teacher, and it melts her anger instantly. Heat rises to her cheeks and she ducks her head.

"I'm really sorry," she says softly. Moony crouches down to look at her.

"It's alright," he says. His face goes a bit ashen, but he gives her a weak little smile.

"You look exactly like James," he says softly. "But your eyes are all Lily. Perfect copy." Harri gasps, savoring this new information like the last mouthful of her favorite dessert. Moony frowns, eyeing Padfoot.

"Harri," he starts, hesitant. "I need you to be honest with me, alright? Did this man make you go with him? Did he take you from your aunt and uncle?"

"What?" Harri asks, decidedly confused. Maybe he doesn't know. "My parents died in a car crash and Padfoot is my godfather. He's a bit late, but he came to get me."

"Car crash, what do—never mind. Harri, what exactly did he say to you?" Moony asks insistently.

"We went to back to the house and Aunt Petunia knew him. He really is my godfather," Harri says earnestly. "And I told them I'd write."

"Remus, let me explain everything, there's a lot she doesn't know," Padfoot says softly. "She's probably hungry and tired, if we could trouble you for something."

Harri flushes, but her cheeks are too dark to betray her embarrassment.

"I'm okay," she says. Moony gives Padfoot a hard glare, but sighs deeply.

"My top priority is Harri, do you understand? I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep her safe," he practically snarls. Padfoot raises an eyebrow.

"Still a bit touchy from last night?" Remus clenches his fists and his jaw but doesn't say anything. He turns to Harri, a concerned frown on his face.

"I don't have too much, but I can make some toast. Is that alright?" he asks. "And tea, there's tea, and I've got milk."

"Yes, please," Harri agrees eagerly. Moony's lips twitch and Harri hurriedly tacks on, "If it's not too much trouble. I can do it myself, so you don't have to."

"That's why I had to take her!" Padfoot interjects. "You should've seen the way they were treating her, Remus—"

"Later!" Moony hisses. "And never mind the toast, I'll do it. You just wash up. Bath's just through there."

Harri heads off to the door he pointed out, quickly scrubbing her hands. She can't understand why Moony would think Padfoot might hurt her. They've had talks before during assembly, about strangers who could hurt children, but Padfoot is the only family she's got left. He would never hurt her, she knows it. Best she can figure, Moony thinks he's a bad person, but she can't glean why. Maybe they had a fight, and now they're not friends anymore. The thought makes her sad.

When she troops back into the kitchenette, Moony has a cup of milky tea and a few pieces of hot, buttered toast for her.

"Go on, tuck in," Moony says, taking a few sips of his own tea. He hasn't put any milk in it, though. He makes a face like he doesn't like it but keeps drinking. "You can go to bed straight after, I'm sure you're exhausted."

Harri picks up a piece, but notices there's not a place set for Padfoot. In fact, he's still standing by the door, looking a bit sad.

"Do you want some?" she offers him. He shakes his head, but Harri's glad for the way he smiles. She gobbles up the toast and gulps down the tea, not realizing just how hungry she was. Moony takes her dishes when she's done and to her amazements, uses magic to get them washing themselves. Awestruck, she watches as the dishes scrub themselves.

"Come on, off to bed," Moony says. He takes her to the single bedroom in the flat, settling her into the narrow bed.

"I'm going to keep you safe," Moony whispers softly, brushing her hair back and pulling the blankets up. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you again." Harri's eyes are heavily, and the blankets are so cozy. She drifts off to bed easily. The last thing she hears is a dull thud before she falls asleep.

**A/N: Hey gang, let me know what you guys think about the pacing and how the chapter endings go. Hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Anyways, time for Sirius and Remus to work out some of their feelings. Remember people, this is a slow burn. Anyways, enjoy!**

Sirius knows this tentative peace will only last until Harri's tucked up in bed, but as he watches Moony fry up some toast, every part of his body aches. His fists clench and unclench, throat blocking and unblocking like it doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Honestly, he's surprised Moony didn't kill him right then and there. He would've. Of course, that would've frightened the absolute shit out of Harri, and Moony was right, she does need to be their top priority right now. Sirius has failed James enough already.

"Once she's done eating," Moony says in a deadly whisper. "You're going tell me exactly what you did, then I'm going to decide what punishment even comes close to making up for what you did."

"Harri first, then—" he cuts off as the water cuts off, and Harri comes back into the room. She's handling everything much better than he thought she might, the James in her coming out in full force. Sirius can't believe she stamped on Moony's foot, but it makes complete sense. James' fatal flaw was loyalty; it only makes sense that it's Harri's as well.

Harri eats ravenously, and Sirius watches guiltily. He might be used to a meal a day, but small children are not. Even ones that have been treated as horribly as Harri has. A ghost of a smiles finds its way onto his face as she lights up over the smallest display of magic.

Moony settles her in for the night, casts a muffliato on the door, then rushes him full force. Padfoot's instincts take over entirely, and suddenly they're both struggling for dominance, but Moony's still powerful from the full moon and Sirius is still weak, so he ends up sprawled on the ground, Moony's wand held at a deadly angle against his throat.

"Explain before I kill you myself," Remus snarls. Padfoot submits, a soft whine slipping past his teeth.

"I wasn't the secret keeper," Sirius gasps against the tight hand on his throat. "I made James change secret keepers last minute."

"You're lying," Remus says, slamming Sirius against the floor with enough force to have him seeing stars. "The truth, now."

"I swear on Harri," he wheezes, which is apparently the wrong thing to say because Remus thrashes him soundly again.

"Don't you dare say her name!"

"Moony," Sirius gasps. "Please."

Suddenly, the pressure's gone and Remus is sitting a few feet away from him, breathing hard and clutching both his and Sirius's wand. He feels naked without it, on edge, but he's going to do whatever Moony needs to feel safe right now. It's the absolute least he can do.

"What do you mean, you weren't the secret keeper?" he asks after a particularly tense minute.

"It's still my fault that James and Lily are dead, but I didn't sell them out," Sirius says. "Three weeks before Halloween, right when you went away to do whatever the fuck was so important—"

"Dumbledore gave me a job!"

"Listen! You left, and I… I got it in my head that the traitor might've been you," Sirius admits. Shame courses heavily through him. "I convinced James it would be best if we changed secret keepers. He was pissed as shit, but he did it finally. Kept insisting it wasn't you though." This is important for Remus to know, for him to realize that the only person who should be punished was Sirius.

"Then who did you change it to?" Remus asks, grimacing like he's waiting for Sirius to conform his worst fear.

"Peter," he says. "Wormtail fucking sold him out like James was nothing to him, like he hadn't spent nine years being his best mate."

For a moment, both Sirius and Remus fume, so filled with anger that it threatens to overwhelm them. Shame, anger, and guilt pulse so clearly inside Sirius that it very nearly drowns out the crushing grief he carries. Nearly.

"Peter," Remus chokes out. "I thought he was dead. I thought you killed him. I send cards to his mum every fucking year."

"She's got nothing to do with this," Sirius says. "Of course, she didn't know."

"He… he framed you," Remus says slowly. "You fought him and blew up a muggle street. You killed thirteen muggles and he cut off his finger—"

"I never killed anyone!" Sirius snaps, teeth bared. Padfoot urges him to strike, to show Moony who was boss, but Sirius forces that urge back. "We fought, but he blew up the street. He knew they'd blame me. We were unregistered, so it wasn't like I could tell the aurors he was a rat."

"Fuck," Remus mumbles. He blinks rapidly and breaths hard, and some buried part of Sirius knows he's about to cry, knows he should hurry over and wrap his arms around him, mumble stupid jokes in his ear until he smiles. But he doesn't have any jokes, just anger that runs so deep that it threatens to cleave him in two.

"Fuck," Sirius echoes. They both sit, trying to get ahold of himself. If Harri woke up now, they'd scare the shit out of her. Harri. He needs to focus on Harri. Slowly the anger recedes a little, enough for Sirius to breathe easily.

"Don't suppose you could prove it to me, could you?" Remus says, toying with Sirius's wand.

"Have any veritaserum?" Sirius asks, smiling wanly. Remus scoffs, pulling himself up. He offers Sirius a hand.

There was a moment, when Sirius was maybe fourteen or fifteen, where everything about Moony lit up every goddamn nerve he had. The strong set of his shoulders to the delicate skin of his throat. His hands were always so warm.

Now, Sirius quickly catalogues the feeling of Remus's hand in his, taking note of the callouses, and most importantly, the chill.

"You've not been taking care of yourself," Sirius says, reluctantly letting go of Remus's hand. Remus scoffs again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Look who's talking," he quips. "Finally, the outside reflects the madness within."

"You'd know all about the madness within, wouldn't you?" The words are right, something they might've said to each other so long ago, but Sirius is not that boy anymore. He's wrong and twisted, that inherently bad part of himself breaking free of its shell and taking hold of him, force him to suspect someone he loved of betrayal.

Silently, Remus pour a cup of tea and slides it to Sirius, a thoughtful frown on his face. Without having to be told, he dumps a generous shot of firewhiskey in it. Sirius downs the little cup in one go, relishing the burn in his throat.

"In a few days, maybe tomorrow even, they're going to announce you broke out of Azkaban, and when they realize Harri's gone missing, all hell's going to break loose."

"I know," Sirius mumbles. "I didn't actually have a plan—"

"When have you ever?"

"I just knew I was innocent, and when they put that thing in the paper about Harri, I just…"

"I know," Remus murmurs. "We're fucked."

"We?" Sirius won't get his hopes up, he doesn't deserve to.

"You're here, aren't you?" Remus says simply, like that solves it.

"This will be the first place they check," Sirius says miserably. "I've fucked it all up for you."

"I think you'll find I really don't need help ruining my own life," Remus says, sounding lightly amused. Sirius gives him a frantic look, heart beginning to race.

"They'll arrest you," he says, panic mounting. "You won't last, Remus, I swear to you—"

"Shut up," Remus tells him firmly. "I just need to think."

"This isn't some stupid prank you can talk our way out of!" Sirius barks, agitated. "Harri, oh fuck, they'll send her straight back to Lily's sister."

"You said something before, about how they treated her," Remus says. "What do you mean?"

"You remember how Lils and her sister felt about each other," Sirius laughs derisively. "They were horrible, yelling at her, pinching her, starving her—"

"Starving her! What do you mean?"

"I mean just that! When I saw her, she was on punishment for trouble at school and she wasn't to have any meals. I couldn't leave her," Sirius explains.

"She can't go back," Remus decides, hackles raised. "I'll… write to Dumbledore and maybe—"

"And how will you explain Harri finding you in the first place? It's not like she knew anything about us. She didn't even know that magic existed until this morning." Sirius toy with the teacup, trying to calm himself. He would not be going back to Azkaban, he wouldn't survive it.

James—

He would not let James down again.

"We can't do this ourselves," Remus says, twisting his fingers around each other. "What about school?"

"We've got years until she has to be in school," Sirius says. "We need to figure out where we can be without being found."

"Sirius, muggles are very strict about school," Remus tells him sharply. "Eventually, someone will notice she's not in. At best we have a few weeks."

"Petunia and her husband can deal with that," he says just as sharply. The muggles will blame them and if they're lucky, this won't be traced back to them at all.

"What about Hogwarts? Even if we do hide out, we can't run forever," Remus counters.

"Fine! What the fuck do you suggest we do, then?" Sirius snarls.

"Just.. just let me figure it out," he says, deflating a bit. Sirius swallows, guilt thick and cloying in his throat. "For now, we need rest. Let me have the futon, and Padfoot can sleep near the fire."

Sirius doesn't protest, turning and settling on the rug next to the fireplace. Remus lights it to a low flame, just enough to keep them warm throughout the night. Sirius decides to overlook the fact that he still hasn't gotten his wand back.

Remus can't stop looking at him, at the both of them. Harri is so big, all of her soft baby fat melted away to sharp angles and skinny limbs. He barely gets a wink of sleep, alternating between pretending to read and checking that Harri's still there.

The next morning, he's decidedly miserable, stumbling into the kitchenette to make some coffee. The kettle's on and he's about to obliterate the beans into grounds before he realizes he's still got Sirius's wand.

They all used to trade wands all the time in school, swapping them for whole class periods just to see if they could, or if anyone would notice. Sirius's wand had worked best for James, but it used to oblige him well enough. He's about to try it before he realizes.

The trace.

One, Harri's got the trace, and while adults doing magic around children won't set it off, she definitely will if she gets ahold of either of their wands.

Two, prisoners have trace's reactivated as well, and if they haven't destroyed Sirius's wand, there's no way they can do magic on it without setting it off.

"Do you need some help?" Remus jumps at the voice, whirling around to find Harri standing in the doorway, positively shaking in her thin, oversized housedress. Her hair's an absolute mess, and for a minute, she's James, alive and whole and here to make things better. He blinks and she's Harri again. He has to take care of her.

"Are you cold?" he asks, not bothering to wait for answer before he fetches one of his older jumpers and a pair of socks.

"Thank you," she says, pulling them on hurriedly. The fire had died sometime last night and Remus just hadn't been present enough to reignite it.

"Tea?" he asks her, already pulling a cup down.

"Can I do anything to help?" she asks politely. There's something about her tone that strikes Remus as not quite right. It's almost like she's afraid. Then again, there are quite a few things for her to be afraid of.

"That's alright," he says. "Toast again? I'm afraid I really don't have much else. The shopping sort of… slipped my mind."

"That's alright," Harri says agreeably. "I love toast and you make it really good."

"That's how your mum used to eat it," he says, thinking back to the little house in Godric's Hollow. "She'd fry it up in butter like that."

"Were you really friends with mum and dad?" Harri asks, taking a sip of her tea. Remus hopes it milky enough because he's really not too sure if little children are supposed to have tea.

"We went to school together," Remus says, sitting next to her with his coffee. "At Hogwarts."

"The magic school?" Harri asks. He nods, unable to help but smile at her. "What will I have to do to get a place there? I can't do any magic."

"You've already got a place," Remus assures her. "And as for the magic? You'd be surprised."

"Morning," Sirius croaks, shaking his head like a dog. "Sleep alright, Harri?"

"Fine, thanks," she says. "Will they teach me how to turn into a dog at magic school?"

"Hogwarts," Remus corrects absently. "Probably not. It's very difficult and you have register with the ministry for it."

"Can you do it too?" she asks, looking up at him with wide, awe-filled eyes. It's very nearly painful to look at her but he can't stop. He's missed so much of her life.

"Not quite," he says. "Listen, I have to get to work, but I'll see if I can get off early. Just… sit tight."

With that, Remus rushes through getting ready while Sirius digs through his pantry. Hopefully they'll find something to tide them over until he can go shopping later tonight. Just as he's about to leave, he finds Harri in front of his bookshelf, just looking.

"I wasn't going to touch," she says hurriedly when she notices him.

"It's alright," he assures her. "I don't have many childrens' books, but I have one or two you might enjoy. Maybe Sirius—er, Padfoot can help you with the words."

"Really?" she asks excitedly. Remus grins, plucking out a muggle series that Lily had gifted him about ten years back.

"Maybe you'll like it," he says. "See you soon."

"Bring back food!" Sirius reminds him.

"See you!" Harri calls as he heads out.

Thankfully, all he has to do is look a bit pitiful—which isn't very difficult—and pout a bit for Dot to let him off, assuring she can manage without him. It definitely doesn't hurt to smile charmingly at her. He could never quite manage as well as James or Sirius could with women, but considering his interests lie elsewhere, he has an excuse.

He fumbles through the shopping, tripping up as usual over the muggle money. Even after all these years, the mix of paper notes and coins throws him. It definitely doesn't help that the coins all look alike. He races back home, arms laden, excited for once at the prospect of being in his little flat.

Harri and Sirius are cuddled under a blanket on the futon when he gets back, only a few chapters into the book.

"This is mad," Sirius tells him matter-of-factly. "Talking griffins and centaurs that actually like people. Who wrote this?"

"Never mind that," Remus says, setting some of the bag of shopping on the ground. Harri hops up without being told and helps put things away. "Typical, a seven-year-old is more helpful than you are."

It's so fucking uncomfortable between he and Sirius, and no amount of taking the mickey is going to help, but still, Remus tries, because it eases the abject desolation on Sirius's face for a second. He can't even imagine what it must've been like, trapped with the dementors for five years. He looks so old and withered, but the smiling helps, no matter how faint it is.

"I was thinking about the whole 'ministry after me' bit—"

"Who's after you?" Harri asks, shoving a tin of biscuits into one of the cabinets.

"Er," Sirius fumbles, looking at Remus desperately.

"The ministry is in charge of us," he says. Harri nods, frowning thoughtfully. It's strange to see such a Lily-esque on James' face.

"The Council for Little Whinging?" she asks.

"Right. And they think Sirius was a criminal, so they chucked him in jail—"

"Oi!" Sirius interjects. Clearly, he hasn't explained where he's been for the past five years. She's too smart, Remus thinks, to be lied to.

"Jail! What for?" she asks, biscuits entirely forgotten.

"Never you mind," Sirius says brusque. "I'm innocent."

"Why can't we just tell the ministry that?" Harri asks.

"You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" Sirius mutters. Instantly, Harri's face crumples and she shrinks into herself. "Fuck, no that not what I meant—"

"Asking questions isn't a bad thing, Harri," Remus says gently, taking on of her tiny hands in his. "It's a very good question. The thing is, they might not listen because they might think he's lying. If they catch him, they'll chuck him right back, so we need to make sure the ministry will really listen to us if they do catch us."

"Sorry, pet," Sirius says, coming to take Harri's other hand. She shakes her head, tossing back the sheet of tangled curls.

"How do we make them listen?" she asks.

"Isn't that the question," Sirius sighs. "Dunno, Hazza, but if you've got an idea, I'd love to hear it."

"Never mind that," Remus says. "You and Harri can borrow a few of my things for now and go scrub up. You first, Harri."

"Oh, alright," she says obligingly. Remus hands a stack of old clothes and a towel and sends her off.

"She had a point, you know," Remus says. Sirius nods, shutting his eyes. "How do we get the ministry to listen?"

"Aside from serving Wormtail on a silver platter, I've no idea," Sirius says.

It goes like that for a few days, Remus sweet-talking Dot into letting him bunk off work, spending time with Harri and Sirius. Harri's easy to love, full of spirit and a cheeky streak. She's kind, playful, and damn intelligent. They've been working through the CS Lewis book every night and Harri's quick to join in to read aloud, barely stumbling over words.

Being with Sirius again is like walking through a dream. There's a fear in the back of Remus's mind that none of this is real, and it definitely doesn't feel real. It's like they're playing at being students again, actors cast in the roles of Sirius and Remus. Believable on the outside, but ultimately false. Remus just doesn't know how to make it go back to normal again, or if normal is something they'll never get again.

On the tenth day of them being there, Remus opens the Daily Prophet to find Sirius's screaming face plastered on the front page. He hides it quickly so Harri won't see, pretending like it's all fine. Eventually, after she falls asleep after a not-so-nutritious supper of cheese toasties, he pulls it back out, wordlessly trusting it at Sirius.

His face drains of what little color it's gained back and he stands there, barely breathing.

"We can't stay here now," Sirius chokes out. "They'll check here first."

"Where will you go?" Before Sirius can answer, an owl hoots outside the kitchen window and they both jump. Sirius sinks to his knees, breathing harshly. Remus hurries over, plucking the letter from the owl's leg and filling a teacup with water for it to drink.

_Dear Remus,_

_I hope this letter find you well, and I'm sure by now you've heard about Sirius. I would like to speak with you about it, so please do write back at your earliest convenience. \_

_Best,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

The letter is decidedly vague, but Remus just knows that he knows. Fuck. This is it. They're entirely fucked and if they're both in prison, there'll be no one to look after Harri, and he can't just leave her, not again, not when she's all he has left of—

"It's Dumbledore," Remus says, voice just beginning to shake.

"Does he know?" Sirius asks, voice muffled by his knees.

"Can't say, but he wants to talk to me," Remus says. "We can't stay here."

"No, you need to stay here," Sirius says suddenly, face full of clarity. "Harri and I will go, and you can send word after Dumbledore's finished with you."

"Where will you go?" Remus asks anxiously, a heavy pit of dread swirling in his stomach.

"There's only one place left," Sirius says miserably. "Grimmauld Place."

**A/N: We can't stay in Remus's little flat forever! Anyways, let me know what you guys thought?**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey gang! We're getting into the Grimmauld place shenanigans and then onto the actual plot. Enjoy!**

They wait till morning to talk to Harri, but Sirius can't sleep the whole night, and neither can Padfoot. He switches back and forth, pacing as both dog and human until Remus hisses at him to stop. He ends up sitting outside Harri's room as Padfoot, just listening to her breath.

Eventually, Remus falls asleep, curled up tight on the couch. His limbs are too long for the couch, and from Padfoot's vantage point his limbs are too thin. He wants to soothe him, ease the worry lines from his face, but there's a part of Sirius that recoils at the idea. Padfoot thinks this notion is ridiculous, the separation of their pack. Of course, it's difficult to mend a fractured pack when their alpha is gone.

The both of them are up before sunrise, giving up on the notion of sleep. Padfoot shifts back to Sirius, following Remus into the kitchen. He slumps onto one of the chairs, watching Remus make tea.

"We'll have to go as soon as she's up,' Sirius says softly, his voice not much of a croak.

"How will you tell her?" Remus asks, pouring a few cups of tea.

"She's too smart to lie to," Sirius sighs. "I'll just explain it to her."

Not before long, Harri trudges into the kitchenette, huddled in one of Remus's baggy sweatshirts and his socks. She smiles sleepily at the pair, taking her customary seat next to Sirius.

"Morning, pet," Sirius says, smoothing back her mane of hair, but there's no point in trying to tidy the infamous Potter hair.

"Morning," she mumbles, taking a few sips of her tea. She greets Remus too, hopping up to hug him as she fishes out the biscuits.

"Listen, Harri," Remus says, sitting on her other side. "You and Padfoot are going to a new place today."

Harri's brow furrows as she frowns thoughtfully.

"They're coming for us, aren't they," she says, sounding years older than she is. "Why aren't you coming with us too?"

"It's best if we just lay low for a bit," Sirius explains. "There's a place we can go to, and when things sort of blow over, Moony can come with us if he likes."

Harri nods, staring into her teacup. She swirls it around, drowning a biscuit in her tea.

"Have we done something wrong?" she asks softly.

"No, we haven't," Sirius says resolutely. "They just think we have, but once we sort it out, it'll get better."

"How will you sort it?" she asks, digging out her sodden biscuit and gobbling it down. Remus sighs, petting back her hair.

"Dunno yet, but we'll sort it," Remus assures her. Harri looks up at Sirius suddenly, eyes absolutely blazing. He's forcibly reminded that she's James daughter, through and through.

"I'll protect you," she says sharply. "No one will chuck you in jail."

"Thanks, Hazza," he mumbles, ducking his head. He's thinking of James, and that night he showed up at the Potter's soaked the bone and bruised to high hell. James had gathered him up so gently, his grip firm, whispering that he would kill Orion himself with his bare hands if he so much as looked at Sirius again.

"Best to leave as soon as possible," he says, clearing his throat. "I'll disguise you—"

"You can't!" Moony interjects. "The trace, Sirius, it'll still be on you, and your wand."

"The tra—" Sirius can't breathe, suddenly. He hadn't thought—fuck, he hadn't thought at all. Remus and Harri are both saying something, he knows, but he can't make it out, everything's gone fuzzy—

"Sirius!" Remus says sharply, grabbing his shoulders to steady him. There was a moment, Sirius remembers, when he was a third year, when Regulus had been sorted into Slytherin and Sirius had panicked, gasping out that he'd lost his family, that there was no one else, when Remus had suddenly stepped into his space, grabbing his shoulders and holding tight, grounding him.

"I forgot about that," he says weakly. Harri's watching him, worry etched into her little face.

"What's that?" she asks, reaching for Sirius's hand. He takes it gladly, a lump lodging in his throat at the gesture.

"It's a way for the ministry to monitor magical children," Remus explains. "To make sure they don't use magic outside of school."

"Why not?" Harri asks, tilting her head.

"So, no one gets hurt," Sirius interjects. "Any way around it, Moo—Remus?"

"Not that I knew, but I dunno, I can look into it, I suppose," he muses, ignoring Sirius's slip-up. "Might be a bit sus, though."

"Never mind then," he sighs. "I don't mind playing muggle for a while."

Harri stands carefully still while Moony transforms her hair pin straight and short, her eyes dark brown. He changes her nose and her smile, too. Harri marvels at herself in the mirror, astonished at her appearance.

"When can I get a wand?" she asks as Moony tuck her hair under a cap. He chuckles softly, smoothing her sweater. He'd gotten a few clothes for her, a few pairs of leggings and a dress. She loves them, and she's said thank you a million times, but she loves his sweaters the best, even if she has to roll the sleeves almost all the way.

"Not for a while," he says. "When you're older."

"How old?" she presses.

"I got mine when I was eleven," he says, guiding her out of the bathroom. In the living room, Sirius is packing her rucksack with the other clothes, as well as a few snacks.

"That's so far," Harri says, put out. She won't be seven for weeks, and even then, eleven is years away.

"You'll survive," he says, amused. He helps her into an older jean jacket of his, and while it might be too hot for early July, Harri doesn't mind it. Padfoot turns into Padfoot the dog and Harri follows him out.

Moony gathers her into a tight hug, squeezing just as tight as she does.

"When are you going to come see us?" she asks. Moony swallows, ducking away.

"Dunno," he says, and Harri swallows hard. "As soon as it's safe, alright? Take care of Padfoot for me, alright?"

"I will," she says. "I promise." Moony's smile goes sad and suddenly Harri's worried.

"Who'll look after you?" she asks urgently. "You'll be alone." Padfoot nudges her hand, reminding her to hurry.

"I'll be alright," he says, voice thick. "Stay safe."

Padfoot takes her sleeve between his teeth, tugging her along. Harri follows, throat working. She's not a little girl anymore, and she must be strong, she promised to take care of Padfoot. Still, she can't help but sniffle a bit.

They walk for a while, taking alley ways and side streets until Harri's feet begin to ache. She keeps quiet until suddenly they stop. They're in between a park and a row of tall, narrow houses, all connected. Padfoot trots into the bushes and becomes Padfoot-the-person again.

"Alright, Hazza?"

"Yeah," she says, looking around. The building is nice, but dark, though Harri can see a few weak lights shining out from a couple windows. "Where are we?"

"Muggle London," Padfoot says, scoffing. "Dear old dad figured no one would find us here."

"Your parents live here?" she asks hesitantly. Padfoot scowls and instantly, Harri knows they're bad. His face is strange, almost scary. This is probably what Moony meant when he said to take care of Padfoot.

"My parents are dead," he says baldly. "My dad died two years after we graduated—er, after I graduated. My mum died a few years after."

"I'm sorry," she says, slipping her hand into his. Padfoot softens, smiling tiredly before hauling her up onto his hip.

"Nothing to worry about now," he says soothingly, grip tight. "Can you see that building? The darker one? Number 12." Harri squints, then shakes her head.

"Number 12, Grimmauld Place," Padfoot says, and suddenly, Harri can see it. She blinks in surprise, stunned at the way the dark, crumbling house had suddenly appeared. It looks worse than the other and suddenly, she's nervous.

"There?" she asks, pointing. Padfoot nods grimly, walking over.

"Let's hope this works," he mutters, setting Harri down on the stoop. Padfoot pulls out a switchblade, dragging it over his palm with hiss. Harri looks away as he smears the blood over the doorknob, and to her surprise the door swings open. Padfoot grins, stepping hesitantly inside.

"Just stay there for a mo', Hazza," he says. "I'll let you know if it's safe to come in."

Harri shifts her weight from foot to foot anxiously, waiting for Padfoot. There's a muffled thump, a bitten-off curse, then an ear-splitting shriek. Harri drops her rucksack and tears in, finding Padfoot sprawled on the ground, clutching his knee.

Harri gawks at the source of the screaming, which is a woman on the wall. Harri blinks, covering her ears. No, not a woman, but a painting. She's stunned that the painting is moving.

"Scum!" she shrieks. "Defiler of my blood! Filthy criminal!"

"Shut up!" he roars back. Harri shrinks back against the wall, crouching and covering her ears. "Shut the fuck up, you hag!" She hides her face in her knees, blinking back sudden tears. Harri breathes hard, trying to be strong. The screams muffle and suddenly, there's a hand on her shoulder. Harri looks up suddenly, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Oh, pet," he sighs. "I'm sorry, that must've really scared you." Embarrassed, Harri swipes at her tears.

"I'm alright," he says. "Just loud."

"You don't like loud, do you?" Harri shrugs, making her way back to retrieve her fallen rucksack.

"What was that?" she asks, ignoring his question. Padfoot scoffs, shaking his head.

"My mum," he says. "What's left of her miserable, shriveled soul."

Harri doesn't know what to do with that, so she makes her way back to Padfoot, slipping her hand in his as she surveys the place. It's dusty and crumbling, dark and scaring looking. Padfoot squeezes her hand gently, leading her into the darkened parlor.

"Well," he says, looking around with a grim smile. "At least this means Kreacher is dead."

"Who?" Harri asks, taking a hesitant seat on the dusty sofa.

"Er, house elf," Padfoot says, poking around. Harri wants to ask what that is, but he looks busy. "Right, there'll be a little cleaning to do. Up for it?"

"I don't mind," she says hopping up out of her seat.

"Let's go see if the water runs," he says. Harri follows him up the stairs, staying in his footsteps like he told her to. The bathroom, like the house, is dank and scuzzy. The taps work though and there are towels—albeit moth-bitten. They soak the towels and bring them downstairs, running them over all the surfaces. Turns out, Padfoot really doesn't much about cleaning, so Harri takes the lead.

While Padfoot wrestles with the windows, trying to pry them open, Harri scrubs at the floor. Something shifts in the corner of her eye and she frowns, crouching to peek under the sofa. There's something small and dark moving under there, and before she can tell Padfoot, it lunges at here.

She screams, swatting at it. More of them come out, leaping at her, and thankfully, Padfoot pulls her away, batting those things away. She clings to him, glaring at the things. They're little clumps of darkness, with gaping mouths.

"What is that?" she demands. Padfoot stomps on them hard, which sends the survivors scurrying back under the sofa.

"Bloody dust bunnies," he mutters, setting Harri on top of the sofa. "Wish I could use my wand."

"But if you do, the ministry will find us, right?" Harri says nervously. Padfoot scowls, shaking his head.

"I know, Pro—fuck, Hazza, I meant." He flushes, kicking away one of the towels. "Could do with a bloody house elf right about now."

"What is that?" she asks, braver now.

"Er, magizoologically speaking, they stem from goblins, but they're domesticated." Harri looks at him blankly and Padfoot barks out a laugh.

"Little creatures who do the housework," he explains.

"Right," Harri says. "You had one?"

"Nasty little fuc—er, thing," he says. Harri quirks an eyebrow at the almost swear. "Alright, put your bloody eyebrows away. I can swear, just not you."

Harri laughs, settling on the couch. She pokes at the cushion, then brings her hands down hard, letting the dust fly up.

"I dunno how to clean up a sofa," she admits.

"Might have to just burn the thing," he says. "I'll go upstairs and look for some blankets. Might just have to have biscuits for dinner."

Harri grins, thrilled at the news. Padfoot scoffs, shaking his head and chuckling as he heads up the stairs. Harri pokes around the living room, opening drawers or at least trying to. Many of them are locked, but Harri pries open one of them. Inside lies an ornate silver box, words Harri can't read engraved in a pretty, curling script all along the edge of the box.

Carefully, she opens the box, gasping softly at the pretty jewels inside. There are trinkets of all colors, sparkling beautifully. She picks up a stunning silver ring, turning it over in her hands.

"The little brat has something it shouldn't."

**A/N: So, I don't know when Walburga and Orion died, but my headcanon is that Orion died first, just before Sirius got taken in, and Walburga died later, after the loss of her entire family hit her. Of course, I'm sure there's canon, but clearly, I don't fuck with canon. Let me know what you thought! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey gang! So, yes, a little late, but it is up! Time to get in to the Kreacher Problem, enjoy!**

Sirius knows something's wrong a split second before Harri screams, and when she does, he's already moving, bounding down the stairs. He barrels into the living room, fists up, only to find Harri and Kreacher.

Fuck. So, the nasty little bootlicker was still alive.

"Alright?" he asks tightly, decidedly not looking at him. His fists are balled at his side and something dark and twisted inside him urges him to take a swing, to knock the tiny motherfucker to the ground and pound his horrid little face—

"Yeah, sorry, just startled," she says. She turns to Kreacher, an apologetic look on her face. It's then that Sirius notice's that Kreacher's got his mother's jewelry box clutched in his gnarled hands. "I'm really sorry about your box. I was just looking."

"Isn't mine, nasty little half-blood," Kreacher croaks. "It's my mistress's. My poor, poor mistress who would wither away at the thought of filthy hands on her most precious—"

"Your poor, poor mistress is long dead," Sirius tells him savagely, only to see the way his face scrunches up in anguish.

"Poor mistress lived just long enough to see her blood soured," Kreacher says reproachfully. "You are a filthy little criminal, besmirching the house where you were raised. No respect from the brat."

"If I could send you packing, I would," Sirius tells him darkly. The threat of his freedom shuts him up, thank Merlin. Sirius contemplates it briefly, but there's no way that Kreacher will keep their secret. Best thing to do is to keep him, Sirius realizes dejectedly.

"Is this the house elf?" Harri asks with a frown.

"This is Kreacher, last protector of the most noble house of Black," Sirius sneers mockingly. "Look how he's let the house fall into to ruin. What would dear old mum say about it?"

"The traitor speaks of his mother. The blood and womb he betrayed?" Kreacher asks, though it's mostly to himself. Sirius scowls.

"Go make yourself useful, you nasty twat," he says. "This house is disgusting." With that, Kreacher ambles off, glaring darkly at the two of them.

"You weren't very nice to him," Harri says, surprising him. She's got her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face, and for a second, she wavers between Harri and James. Sirius swallows the lump edging its way up his throat.

"He's not a very nice house elf." Harri shakes her head unconvinced.

"He could be," she insists. "He won't be nice unless you're nice first, but you're just being mean." Sirius balks at the embarrassment of being scolded by a not-yet-seven-year-old. James had been the same, the one and only time he'd been to Sirius's house, prattling on about how he needed to be kinder to Kreacher. Neither of them knew what it was like, though, to be thrown over the coffee table and whipped until his skin bled, all while Kreacher stood watching in the corner, a nasty gleam in his eyes.

"Go wash up," he says gruffly. "I'll get us something to eat."

When it's just him in the parlor, Sirius takes a deep breath, forcing himself to control his temper. He won't let it flare up in front of Harri. He is not his father.

He ventures into the kitchen trying to see if there's anything salvageable in there. If Kreacher's alive, he must be eating something. Scrounging through the cabinets yield only a half eaten loaf of moldy bread, old enough that the smell of it makes even him retch a little. Looks like they'll have to subsist on biscuits until they can figure something else out.

"Will new master starve Kreacher?" That awful bullfrog croak startles him and he jumps, finding Kreacher slinking around doorway. "How will new master come up with ways to punish Kreacher, for he so likes to see me in pain?"

Sirius recoils, biting back a snarl. He is not his father, and he will not react like him. Orion would half backhanded Kreacher across the room by now. Despite his pride at his blood status, he'd always favored the muggle way of 'discipline'.

"You'll shut up and do as you're told," he says sharply. "And you'll treat Harri with respect."

"The brat?" Kreacher exclaims. "The half-blood filth that besmirches the—"

"Shut. Up," he says through gritted teeth. "I forbid you from talking about anyone's blood status!"

Kreacher makes a horrible noise in the back of his throat, tears streaming in his big, milky eyes. He glares at Sirius, pointed shutting his mouth with an audible click.

"Clean up the kitchen," Sirius says, walking briskly out of it. Old memories he hasn't thought about in nearly a decade surface up, swirling around his mind tauntingly.

He finds Harri in the hall, investigating the awful umbrella stand. It's too big, nearly blocking the narrow hallway, but Orion was too proud of it to get rid of it. Apparently, Sirius's great-grandfather had made it himself, from the leg of a troll he'd hunted and killed.

"I'd leave it if I was you," he says. "The thing reeks and it stays in your hair and clothes."

Immediately, Harri jumps back, embarrassment tinting her dark cheeks rosy. Sirius takes her hand to lead her back to the parlor. He imagines it embarrasses her a bit, to be led like a child, but it's grounding. Sirius can breathe easier if all he has to do is focus on taking care of her.

"I'm sorry that I called you mean," she says softly, sitting on of the decorative poofs. "I didn't mean it."

"S'alright," he says. "Kreacher's always tried my temper."

"Sometimes I get really upset, too," she says. "Bad things happen, and people get hurt."

"What do you mean?" Harri only shrugs, clearly not wanting to talk about it further. Kreacher chooses then to amble in, giving a sweeping bow.

"Kreacher hopes the kitchen is to Master's liking," he croaks.

"Thank you for cleaning, Kreacher," Harri says. He pulls up abruptly, shocked. He turns sharply on his heel and strides out. Sirius can't remember if anyone had ever thanked Kreacher for anything in his life.

"Is he angry?" Harri asks, confusion etched on her little face.

"Don't mind him," Sirius tells her. "Let's go see if the kitchen is actually clean." It occurs to Sirius then, as they're inspecting a surprisingly clean kitchen, that Regulus had done that. He'd said please and thank you to Kreacher always, even when their father had beat him for it. He swallows back the pain of thinking of his brother, fetching Harri's rucksack.

They treat themselves to a dinner of biscuits, and to both Sirius's and Kreacher's surprise. Harri lays a few out on a saucer to bring to house elf. He snatches it from her hands, retreating to slink down in his hidey-hole of preference.

That night, Sirius stokes up a fire, which releases a barrage of insects. Harri and Sirius stomp them out or sweep them away, dumping as many of them out the window. She's not squeamish, but she doesn't like being surprised. After making sure the parlor is insect-free, they settle down for the night in a pile of old blankets Sirius salvaged from an airing cupboard. He turns into Padfoot and Harri curls against his side.

The next morning, Sirius wakes alone, freezing and human. He ambles to kitchen, where to his utter astonishment, Kreacher is pouring tea for Harri. She tries to help him, but he smacks her hands away, telling the "nasty brat to watch it's dirty fingers."

"What's all this?" he asks, taking a cautious seat. Unsurprisingly, Kreacher does not serve him tea, instead slinking away and muttering darkly to himself.

"I found Kreacher this morning doing magic!" Harri exclaims. "I asked him what sort of magic he could do, and he said anything."

"House elves do whatever they're ordered to," he says automatically. "Where did you get the tea, Harri?"

"I asked Kreacher if he could make me look different and he did!" Indeed, her hair is slightly blonde around the bottom and her skin is lighter than he's seen in. He watches as it goes darker and her eyes go from ice blue to bottle green.

"So, you went into town?" he asks, trying to keep his voice even. His heart hammers in his chest and wild scenarios run through his mind. He's starting to feel a little faint actually.

"Well, Moony packed me some muggle money, so I thought I'd get a few things. It's alright, I know how to run errands." She eyes him carefully, and clearly, he's not doing a good job of controlling his face because she shrinks back, looking rather small.

"Padfoot, have I done something wrong?"

"Listen very carefully," he says, trying to quell his panic. She's alright, she's here, and they're both safe. "You are never to leave this house without me, do you understand?"

"But—"

"Do you understand?!" He demands, leaping up out of his chair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If anyone sees her, if anyone understands who she is, she'll be taken and he'll never see her again. James—

Harri nods, face pinched up in fear. Instantly, Sirius rears back, ashamed of himself.

"I'm really sorry," she says softly, head down. With that, she troops dejectedly out of the kitchen, wringing her hands. Sirius slumps back in his seat, taking a few deep breaths. That's when he notices the packet of his favorite crisps on the counter.

Fuck.

Harri knows she's a foolish little girl. It was foolish to think she could live here with Padfoot and that Moony would come soon. It was foolish to ask Kreacher to show her magic. It was especially foolish to leave without asking Padfoot first.

She understands why he's angry with her. If anyone catches them, they'll take him away, chuck him in prison for something he didn't do. She sniffles softly to herself as she packs. Surely, he'll understand how foolish she really is, that Aunt Petunia was right when she said she was a horrid difficult child. Surely, he'll send her back, so it's safer for him.

Harri sits on the steps with her rucksack, waiting.

"Harri?" Padfoot makes his way over, a grim expression on his face. "Can I sit?" She nods and he takes a seat a few steps down from her.

"Are you going to send me away?" she asks dully.

"Is that why you've got your ruckie all packed?"

"I'm sorry I made it not safe for you," she admits. She understands that she's got to go back to the Dursley's, as sad as it makes her, because she makes it too unsafe. Suddenly, she's being swept into Padfoot's arms, and he tucks her head under her chin.

"Harri, the most important thing in the world to me is you," he says, his voice rumbling through his chest. "I only care that you're safe, do you understand? That's why I lost my rag. I didn't mean to, but it's fucking terrifying thinking of everything that could happen to you if you're out there alone."

"Are you still angry with me?" She asks. To her embarrassment, tears prick in her eyes, but she blinks them back. She is not a baby.

"Of course not, Hazza," he promises, pulling away slightly. "We're a team, yeah?" She nods eagerly, a smile finding it's way to her face.

"I promise not to go out anymore," she says. "Besides, I haven't got any more money." Padfoot bursts into laughter, shaking with it. After that, Harri and Padfoot put away the rest of the shopping. Harri had bought a few packets of biscuits, two sandwiches, tea, and a small jug of milk. Reluctantly, Kreacher cast a charm on one of the cabinets to keep it cool.

Padfoot takes her and Kreacher around the entirety of the house and they check the wards, which Padfoot explains are long sheets of magic that protect the house. Padfoot yells at him to fix them wards, but Harri asks nicely and he does, not before he calls her a brat. She rolls her eyes, but it doesn't matter. Padfoot grumbles about how he listens to Harri and not him.

They spend the rest of the house cleaning, slowly excavating the rooms. Harri manages to find Padfoot's old room, but he dives in there before she can, closing it whilst turning bright red. He promises to let her in once he's done "redecorating".

Finally, they collapse back in the parlor, in front of the fire. Harri gobbles down her sandwich hungrily. She's exhausted, but she's never been happier to clean. Padfoot is so funny, always making her laugh. He tells her all about her dad, about how they used to joke around at school.

When it's bedtime, Harri curls against Padfoot-the-dog, pleased. She drifts off slowly, counting back her favorite days. This is definitely one of them, plus the day Padfoot found her, the day she, him, and Moony all sat around the fire eating cheese toasties and reading books. There's another one, but she's not sure if it's really even real, one where she sits with her mum and dad, just talking to them.

The next morning, Harri wakes to a weird noise, like a tapping on the window. She pulls herself away from Padfoot-the-dog, who snuffles softly, still asleep. Harri gasps softly; there's an owl at the window.

"Padfoot," she whispers shaking one of his paws. "Padfoot, wake up!"

"What is all this noise?" Kreacher moans, shuffling into the room, a frown marring his face. "Owls at all times of the day, keeping the whole house awake. My poor mistress, restless…"

"Whazzgoinon?" Padfoot-the-human says, sleepily pulling himself up to his feet. He crosses over to the window, wrenching it open. Harri hurries over to the kitchen, filling a teacup with water and grabbing one of the remaining biscuits.

Harri lays it out for the owl, who gulps down the water. The owl gives a soft hoot, leaning against her hand. Padfoot extracts the letter from his foot, unfurling the parchment.

"What does it say?" she demands, tugging on sleeve. Padfoot snickers, ducking out of her grasp. She giggles, chasing him and barreling into him. Padfoot lets out an "oof", buckling a little. He hefts Harri up on his lap and they read the letter together.

_Dear Harri and Padfoot, _

_Things alright here. HM left without saying too much. Very cryptic but does not suspect anything. Will be by as soon as possible. Sent some muggle money to keep you two afloat. _

_Stay safe, _

_Moony_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey gang! Hope you enjoy!**

Sirius reads the letter over a few times, rubbing his thumb along the words. Fuck, he misses Moony. He hands the letter over to Harri, letting her read it for herself.

"Who's HM?" she asks.

"Er, it means the headmaster," he explains. A cryptic Dumbledore was never a safe Dumbledore. Sirius can't count how many times he'd landed in detention after an enigmatic phrase and a twinkle of his eyes.

"Of the magic school?" she asks, cocking her head. "Of Hogwarts?"

"Harri, why don't you see if there's any paper and a quill, yeah?" he says, gently pushing her out of the kitchen. "We need to write Moony back." Harri nods, heading off in search of paper. The owl hoots again, sticking its other foot out. Attached to it is a leather pouch. Sirius takes it, letting the contents spill over the table. He's never understood why muggles use paper money as well as coins, but he counts it up, organizing it in neat stacks. In total, they'd been sent a hundred pounds.

This probably means Dumbledore was suspicious, and that Moony can't feasibly move until there's a new lead. Sirius drops his head in his arms, groaning. Either they wait until there's been a "sighting" or Sirius will have to go out and create one for himself.

"I found some," Harri announces, coming back into the kitchen with Kreacher in tow. He lumbers off to sit in the corner, mutter darkly. "Thank you, Kreacher."

"Thanks, Hazza," he mumbles, forcing himself to sit up. It was important not to startle her, lest she do a runner. Sirius knows he would've at her age. "What shall we write back?"

"Tell him we miss him," she says, pushing a quill and inkpot towards him. "And thanks for the money. And that we hope he can come visit soon."

Sirius scrawls down whatever she rattles off, passing the quill over for Harri to sign her name. She does it carefully, concentrating hard. Sirius smiles a little when he notices how similar her handwriting is to Lil's.

Sirius takes the letter back to the owl, carefully typing the sheaf of parchment to its leg.

"Go on back where you came from," he says.

"How does the owl know where he's going?" Harri asks.

"Dunno," Sirius admits, startled a little by the question. It was just one of those things that he'd just accepted without thinking too hard about. It's a very Lily thing to do, to question every little thing. "Maybe they're smarter than we give them credit for."

"Maybe," she says, clearly not pleased with the non-answer. Still, she doesn't press him.

"Kreacher supposes the Brat and Master want their tea?" That awful croaking grates on his nerves, but before Sirius can snark off an answer, Harri beats him to it, thanking Kreacher and offering up her help. Kreacher's leathery lip curls and he waves her off, muttering to himself about nosy brats.

Harri and Sirius help themselves to a breakfast of tea and biscuits, leaving the last packet for lunch. Eventually, he'll have to go out to get them more supplies, but Sirius is fine with putting that off for a few hours.

To kill time, Harri and Sirius tackle the library. Sirius rolls his eyes at that awful tapestry, noticing the burn mark where his name used to be. Maybe it's morbid curiosity, but something propels him to inspect the tapestry further.

Narcissa has a child now, a boy called Draco, about the same age as Harri. They'll be in the same year at school. If the boy's anything like his father, he'll be entirely insufferable.

"Is this your family?" Harri asks. She's inspecting the tapestry too, and Sirius can't help but chuckle at the way she struggles to pronounce some of the more… eccentric names.

"Did you know we're related too?" Sirius says. "A relative of mine married your granddad's younger brother."

"Really?" Harri lights up at the idea, tracing the thin gold lines reverently. "Does everyone have one of these?" Sirius snorts, shaking his head.

"My family's always taken pride in their so-called 'pure' lineage," he explains. "Them, and a few other tossers, do this. Most people do keep geneology books though."

"Is there a book for my family?" Harri asks. "Aunt Petunia says her parents died a long time ago and that she doesn't speak with anyone else."

"At your grandparent's house," he says wistfully. Cor, he misses that house. He misses the haphazard collections of books, mismatched furniture, walls crammed full of portraits. Mostly, he misses the Potters. Euphemia, who took him in without question and treated him better than he'd ever dreamed. Fleamont, who could always be counted on for a smile and a wink, just as mischievous as his son.

"Do you think we could go?" she asks, not quite meeting his eyes.

"I promise that as soon as it's safe to, I'll take you," he says, resolutely. She grins at him, pleased. They peel themselves away from the tapestry, focusing on the task at hand. Harri tackles the dusting while Sirius culls the shelves, ridding them of the darker books.

His plan is to burn them, but Kreacher appears rather suddenly, shrieking at the 'defilement' of the library. Harri takes pity on him, forcing Sirius to give him to the lot. He scowls as Kreacher slinks away, toting the sack of books.

After, they polish off the rest of the biscuits and milk. Sirius parks Harri in one of the armchairs with _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_ and _Quidditch Through the Ages_. They might as well do something interesting while they're stuck here, and it really doesn't get more interesting than quidditch.

Sirius hunts around for Kreacher, finally finding him sobbing into one of his mother's old robes, tucked away in the armoire in his parents' room.

"Get out here," he says, rapping on the door. Kreacher tumbles out, glaring up at him, tears and snot flowing freely.

"What does Master require?" he sneers.

"I need you to disguise me," he says. "I need to go out and look unrecognizable." Kreacher scowls, waving a limp hand in his direction. Sirius tries not to squirm as he's transfigured. He looks into the grimy mirror, surprised. His hair is short and blonde, he's much tanner, shorter, and filled out. His eyes, however, remain their own steely grey.

He makes his way downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to shove the money in his pockets, then pokes his head into the parlor. Harri starts when she sees him, dropping her book.

"Padfoot?" she asks, a touch nervous.

"Yeah, pet," he affirms. "I have to go out, to do the shopping, but I'll be back as soon as possible, alright? Just stay here, and if anyone comes by, take Kreacher and tell him to hide you until I come back, so no one can find you."

"Alright," she says. "Will you get more biscuits?"

"Don't you think you ought to eat some fruits and vegetables?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow. Harri blushes.

"Them too, I suppose," she says.

Sirius deliberates for a moment, then plucks his wand from his pocket. He's been careful not to use magic at all, to have Kreacher cast any spell they need, but just in case Kreacher decides not to obey Harri, he presses into her hand.

"I don't want you playing with it, alright?" he says sternly. Harri looks up at him, wide-eyed. "It's only for life and death emergencies."

"I understand," she says softly. She grips the wand, and her expression changes, so Sirius is confident she'll be able to wield it. Fuck, she looks like James.

He shakes his head, needing to focus, then heads out, pockets full of the muggle money.

Dot has stopped believing his excuses.

Remus stalks through the bookshop, trying not to let his worry or annoyance get the best of him. The new moon is rising, and he's already exhausted. That, and the residual stress from Dumbledore's impromptu visit create for an interesting mood.

"Mr. Lupin?" Remus forces himself to take a deep breath before he faces Dot.

"Yes, Dot?" He stops short, blood draining from his face entirely. There's a woman at the front of the shop, speaking to Dot. Not just any woman.

Minerva McGonagall.

"Mr. Lupin," she says, voice as crisp as ever. He swallows hard, reminding himself that he is not a little boy anymore, and in all technicality, she can't actually do anything to him. "I was hoping for a word."

"Er…" He looks to Dot, who's only eyeing Professor McGonagall's robes. Thankfully, Dot gets the message and smiles waving them off.

"Oh, I don't mind," she says jovially. "We're not dreadfully busy." Professor McGonagall eyes the empty shop, one eyebrow arching.

"Professor, if you would follow me," he mumbles. Remus tries to take deep breathes as inconspicuously as possible. He leads her to the back offices, offering her the armchair. "Can I make you a cup of tea?"

"No thank you," she says curtly, looking around. Suddenly, Remus is shameful and deeply uncomfortable. He knows she could only be here to talk about Padfoot, but there's a part of him that wants to assure her that this isn't what he's doing with his life, not really.

"Mr. Lupin," she starts, eyeing him critically. "You're aware of certain situations, I'm sure."

"I know about Black," he says, working to keep his voice and face impassive. Actually, he's a brilliant liar. He always has been. It was his one true talent. He could talk the four of them out of almost any situation. He was the best liar of the lot.

Well.

He supposes in all actuality, Peter had been the best liar. He tries not to dwell on that.

"I know you've spoken to Headmaster Dumbledore," she says. "But I've just come from—well, assessing certain situations, and I need to ask you again if you have any information about Black's whereabouts."

"I don't, professor," he says. She scrutinizes him, disbelieving.

"Very well," she says. "Then, there's another thing you ought to know before the Daily Prophet blares it all over their front page."

"Professor?" They've caught him. They've caught him and they're chucking him right back into Azkaban. He won't last, Remus knows he won't. He'll go mad and then he's have lost Sirius forever.

Harri.

Merlin, what will they do with Harri?

"Harri Potter is missing," she says, eyes sharp and trained on his face.

"Missing?" He cocks his head, letting concern seep into his face. "Professor, I don't understand—"

"Harri Potter," she repeats, eyes narrowing just a touch, like a cat zeroing in on a mouse. "Is missing from her home. She was staying with her Aunt and Uncle, but when I went to check, there was no sign of her."

"Surely, she's there? She can't have gone anywhere else, could she?" Panic is terribly easy to fake when it's there inside you, and right now, Remus has a fair bit to play on. The good thing is she seems to have not spoken to Petunia or her husband, so she can't know the truth. Still, Remus cannot rule out the possibility.

"Lupin, a child's life is at risk," she says. She thinks Sirius must've kidnapped her to do something dark and death eater-y, and frankly, the insinuation makes him angry. How many hours had Sirius spent in McGonagall's office, doing everything he could to avoid turning into his father? How could she think he could betray James and Lily like that, put his own godchild on the chopping block?

(How could Remus believe it himself?)

"I'm sorry professor," he says in the same concerned voice. "But please, tell me if there's anything I can do to help." McGonagall closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, sagging a little. Hot shame rushes through him for making her feel like that, but he holds his resolve. He has to.

"Right," she says, clipped. "Thank you, Mr. Lupin."

For the rest of the day, Remus runs through scenarios. The next plausible step would be to try and find the Black Family home, but it's under so many wards, it's nearly impossible to find without a Black to lead you.

As soon as the day finishes, he rushes to close the shop, nearly ejecting poor Dot from her own establishment. He barely listens when she chides him, locking the door and leaving her there on the doorstep, sprinting back to his flat like it's on fire.

Once he's inside, he lets himself breath, looking around for parchment and quills. There's a tap on his window, and he whirls to find Hipolito, the owl he'd hired waiting outside. He nearly weeps at the sight, rushing to let him in.

"Bloody brilliant owl," he mutters, filling a teacup with water. He plucks the reply off his foot while he drinks, unfurling it.

_Dear Moony,_

_We miss you very much. Thank you so much for the money and we hope you can visit very soon._

_Love,_

_Harri_

_P.S._

_Stay safe and send word. Will meet you at the old flat._

_-Sirius_

It's not much, and it certainly doesn't say anything about their safety. Groaning, he rips off a scrap from the letter and scrawls two words on it.

_Minnie Knows_

He ties it right back on, trying to gently nudge the owl back on his way. He looks at him reproachfully, decidedly unimpressed.

"Just one more trip," he pleads. "I'll even pay in advance. Just drop it off and you can go on your way." The owl hoots his assent and Remus hurries to his room to unearth a galleon. Grimacing—really, post prices are becoming nearly unbearable—he tucks the galleon in the pouch and send him on his way, hoping against hope that Harri and Sirius are alright.

**A/N: Alrighty, so a little tension! Let me know what you thought and see you next week!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hey guys! Just a timeline clarification: it's been four weeks since Harri left the Dursley's, and at the end of the chapter, it will be two weeks that she spent at Grimmauld place. Enjoy!**

The rest of July passes in a haze of cleaning and reading with Harri. She can't get enough of it, gobbling up volume after volume. Sirius loves it, settling after a real dinner—now that Kreacher's actually cooking again, and fetching supplies for them—with her on the sofa, listening to her read out loud.

Her seventh birthday is coming up and he'd love to get her a present, but he thinks he'll just have to settle for cake and see if he can dig up his stack of _Which Broomstick_. While they can't order anything, it'll make for a good read. She'd particularly taken to reading about quidditch.

Currently, they're getting through Sirius's copy of _Beetle and the Bard_, and she loves it. So far, _Babbity Rabbity_ is her favorite. She's in the middle of convincing Sirius to read it to her again when suddenly, the decrepit fireplace roars to life and both of them start. He holds his breath and clenches his fists, ready for whatever may come out of it.

To their surprise, Remus's head pop out, and he sputters a little at the soot.

"Moony!" Harri cries. The book is abandoned as she runs over, plopping down in front of the fireplace. "How are you doing that?"

"It's the floo network," Sirius explains hurriedly. "Alright, Remus?"

"Yeah, fine," he says.

"Does it hurt?" Harri asks. "The fire, I mean."

"Not at all," Remus says. "The floo network is—"

"Never mind that!" Sirius says hurriedly. "What's going on?"

"Just checking in," he says. "On the plan for Saturday."

"Right," Sirius mutters. He'll have to leave Harri to go get Remus, which will definitely tip her off about the surprise. "Do you remember the old flat?"

When they'd all just gotten out of school, before Prongs had proposed to Lils, the four of them lived in this cramped little flat just outside the muggle entrance of Diagon Alley. It was a bit far from Grimmauld Place, but they couldn't chance anything else. The less magic they used, the better.

"Yeah," Remus says, a thin, sad smile pulling at his lips. "Around noonish."

"What's at noon? What old flat?" Harri interjects, tugging at Sirius's sleeve. He winks down at her, not bothering to answer. She huffs in annoyance and Moony laughs.

"Alright, Harri?" he asks. At the questions, she perks up, regaling him with tales of their time at Grimmauld Place. She chatters on about how they've cleaned, how Sirius still won't let her into his old bedroom—the only way to get rid of, ah, certain posters is to burn them entirely—and all the books they've read.

"You sound like a real quidditch expert!" Remus says, a real smile taking over his face. "Prongs would've loved to hear this."

"That's my dad, isn't it?" she asks. They haven't told her much about the Marauders, just that they were all mates, Peter died—no point in telling her the truth until she's old enough to understand—and that they called James 'Prongs'.

"That's right," Remus says. He clears his throat, looking a little sheepish. "Well, I have to be off. Early morning tomorrow. Stay safe."

Harri and Sirius echo back the sentiment, watching Remus disappear and the flames die.

"What's floo?" Sirius explains easily. One of his favorite things about her is her curiosity and her hunger for more. It's such a Lily-esque trait.

They're still camping out in the parlor, because one, Sirius can't use magic to make his old room appropriate for a seven year old, and two, because he can't bring himself to check out any of the other rooms, even the ones reserved for extended family and guests.

Still, the next day, he and Harri tackle some of the unused guest rooms. He can't expect Remus to spend the night on the floor. They fix up a few on the third floor, one for each of them. Harri's utterly gob smacked and thrilled to be getting a room to herself. Sirius forces himself not to think about the implications of that.

Saturday rolls around much quicker than either of them anticipated. Sirius makes himself wake earlier than Harri, which is a feat in and of itself, because she's firmly a morning person. He trudges to the kitchen, where Kreacher is already lumbering around, making the tea. Sirius pours himself a cup, gulping it down despite the scorch.

"Harri's birthday today," he says once he has all of his mental facilities back. "You'll need to make a cake." Then, with gritted teeth. "Please."

"Treat for the little brat," Kreacher grumbles, but he's already moving, ingredients floating lazily down.

"Brat likes treacle tart more than cakes," he says. Sirius rolls his eyes, blushing a touch that he hadn't thought of that. The warm smell of treacle fills the kitchen, making it almost seem homey. Kreacher begins cooking other things as well, chopping onions for French onion soup, letting a dough combine in midair to make fresh bread. "No doubt Brat will badger poor Kreacher all day long for treats."

Before long, Harri makes her way downstairs, bleary eyed. She gives Sirius a sleep-sweet smile before climbing onto a chair. He waits, grinning, for her to realize what's happened. Perhaps the smell hits her, or the soft clink of dishware as Kreacher sets the plate down for her with a soft mutter of "ungrateful Brat."

"What's going on?" she asks uncertainly, eyeing the treacle tart. There's a single, worn candle sitting on top of it, wane candlelight flickering.

"I know it's not much, but happy birthday, Hazza," he says. Harri looks at the candle for a long moment, then up to him. To his horror, there are tears in her eyes.

"Thank you," she manages to croak out. "I've never—I mean, thank you so much." At once, she launches herself into his arms, clinging tight. A flurry of emotions run through him. Grief, anger, shame, but mostly, happiness. None of the other things matter anymore.

"Just wait till you see your surprise," he says, perhaps a little gruff himself.

"There's more?" she asks, astonished. Sirius winks at her.

"Blow out the candle." Harri shuts her eyes tight, then blows. Sirius loops an arm around her, pressing a kiss into her hair.

They dig into the tart, and unsurprisingly, she puts most of it away. She's always eaten like that, for the four weeks he's none her, like every meal might be her last. She needs it too, as thin as she is. Any attempts to muck about always end in Harri jabbing her boney elbows into all his soft bits, accidental or not.

Since it's her birthday, they kill a few hours perusing through the library. Harri calls out titles that interest her and Sirius tells her if they're okay for her to read. Unfortunately, the Black Family Library is full of books on dark magic, so by lunchtime, Harri only has three books in her stack.

They're treated to a lunch of French onion soup and fresh bread, and to Sirius's great mortification, Harri invites Kreacher to sit with them. Of course, this starts up the moaning and groaning about his "poor mistress, what would she think?" She does not ask twice.

After, Sirius leaves her in the parlor with his wand and Hogwarts, A History. Hopefully, she won't get frustrated with its lack of excitement and start wandering, something she's prone to do. He's found her a fair few times, lingering outside some of the older rooms further upstairs.

He shifts on the stoop, still hidden by the wards, then makes his way down. The fresh air is wonderful, and Padfoot has to resist the urge to chase the fat pigeons around the park. He makes his way through town easily, sticking close to the alleys where less people are.

It takes him about half an hour to get there, and he lingers in an alley across the way, waiting for Moony to recognize him. He's sitting on a bench, absorbed in a book. He barks once, which gets his attention. Moony hurries over, stowing the book in his rucksack.

"You're late," Moony says reproachfully. Padfoot nudges his hip, urging him to follow. They move fast, considering Moony is fresh off a change. He smells familiar, the most like pack since that first day they reunited.

It's just starting to rain when they make it back to the house. Moony pulls the hood of his jacket up, letting the dark fabric obscure his face. Padfoot remains for a moment, watching. The rain is sending the muggles scurrying for cover, and those who don't cover themselves with umbrella. He sprints forward, a sleek, black blur. Moony follows.

On the stoop, Padfoot transforms and Sirius stands there, disoriented. Rainwater drips down his hair and floods the collar of the ancient sweater he has on.

"Alright?" he asks Remus breathlessly. He nods, looking around warily. "Kreacher will let us in. I told him to wait for us."

"Right," Remus says, swiping off some of the water. A few uncomfortable minutes pass and he decide that Kreacher clearly isn't going to open the door. Fuck, she should have framed it as an order. Resigned, Sirius cuts his hand on the jagged stone that juts out from the wall, waiting for the blood to take. Remus watches with a grimace. The looks begin to click one by one and the door swings open.

There's a scream and a jet of purple light that sends Sirius and Remus diving. Swearing, Sirius lurches to his feet, hurrying in. They've scared Harri with the bloody door.

"It's me!" he says. For a seven-year-old, she's pretty deadly with a wand, but the sooner they stop the magic, the less time the Trace will have to alert anyone. Harri peeks out from behind the umbrella stand.

"Padfoot!" she gasps, rushing over to give his wand back. "I'm sorry! Kreacher was saying that there was someone bad there—"

"I suppose he meant me," Moony says with a wry grin. He crouches down and opens his arms. Harri lights up, rushing towards him and barreling into his chest. He pulls her into his arms and straightens up, keeping her perched on his hip.

"Happy birthday, pet," he says. Grinning wide, Harri nearly strangles him in another hug, then leads them into the kitchen where she gets him the singular leftover slice of tart. When she asks if Kreacher will make some tea for them, he sets off one another of his stupid little rants, raving about how he's forced to serves traitors, brats, and beasts.

Sirius ends up making a pot of tea.

They sit for a spell, while Harri fills Remus in on everything he missed. He's an attentive listener, but eventually, Harri runs out of steam.

"I'm reading about Hogwarts," she says. "But it's a bit…"

"Bathilda Bagshot might've been a lovely woman and an excellent researcher, but she does not have a way with words," Remus agrees. "Try again when you're a little older." He summons his rucksack, digging through to find a wrapped parcel.

"I have something for in the meantime," he says. Reverent, Harri carefully pulls the paper off, revealing the next installment in the children's book they'd read at Remus's, as well as his old Gobstones set. "Admittedly, the set is about twenty years old, but it still works."

"Thank you," she says breathlessly. "Thank you so much!"

Harri is having the absolute best day of her entire life. For the first time in seven years, she gets to have an actual birthday party. Moony magics some parchment into streamers, sticking them up around the kitchen. Kreacher makes a delicious cake, chocolate with caramel sauce.

They eat a delicious dinner of shepherds pie and cake, and she even gets to make a second wish. There's nothing left in the world to wish for, but she makes her first wish again.

_Please keep Padfoot, Moony, and I safe and together_

After dinner, Moony shows her how to use the Gobstones. It's fairly similar to marbles, but the stones douse you in something truly awful every time you lose a point. Moony's the best and only gets squirted once. Padfoot's the worst, and by the sixth time he's squirted, he declared the game over, stalking upstairs to wash.

That night, both Moony and Padfoot tuck her into her new bed and tell her goodnight, sweeping the hair off her forehead. She falls asleep quickly, dreamless but satisfying.

Yes, Harri Potter is having the best day of her life

August 1st, 1987, Molly Weasley goes outside bleary eyed and still dressed in her nightgown. She gathers the paper, tucking it under one arm, then summons the eggs, sending the chickens flying. She knows she shouldn't, but something about it reminds her of her brothers. Mischief for mischief's sake was their signature.

She sends the eggs to fly, starts cutting the bread, and finishes off some of the washing from last night. She would start the knitting to go on it's own, but her knitting spells never quite work when she's trying to do patterns.

Once breakfast is ready, she sets the table, calling down for the children and Arthur. One by one, they troop downstairs, still in pajamas. Percy is the first once down, his hair a veritable rat's nest. Still sleepy, he gives her an absentminded hug and slumps into his seat. Bill and Charlie are next, arguing about something.

"I can't believe she sent you dragonhide gloves!" Charlie fumes. "How can you be sure they've come from a dragon who's died of natural causes?"

"If you don't shut up, Charlie—"

"Enough!" Molly interjects, eyes flashing. Both boys go quiet, taking their seats. "They were a lovely present, the gloves, and I'm sure they dragon the came from lived a long happy life." Neither boy says anything, too caught up in his own sulking. These boys, she thought, what could she do with them?

Of course, Fred, George, and Ron choose that moment to come thundering down the stairs, far too bright and energetic for this early. Molly corrals them into their seat and begins passing out the bread and jam.

Arthur comes down finally, arms laden with a still sleepy Ginny. She's nearly six, and will take any opportunity to do things her own way, so Molly can understand Arthur wanting to relish these little moments with her.

"Got the paper, darling?" he asks, handing Ginny over. Molly settles her down with a nice slice of toast slathered in jam, then summons the paper. She passes it over, enchanting the eggs to dole themselves out in everyone's plates.

Arthur unfurls the paper with Molly reading over his shoulder, and the two of them stare at the headline, gob smacked and a little fearful for their own children.

HARRIET POTTER MISSING, SUSPECTED TO HAVE BEEN KIDNAPPED BY NOTORIOUS DEATHEATER SIRIUS BLACK

**A/N: So, now everyone knows! Let me know what you thought!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Yeah, so the perspectives kind of ran away with me, but hopefully, you'll enjoy!**

Remus has never been so nervous in his whole life. For the past two weeks, he's watched over his shoulder for every move, and cast more disguising spells than he has in his life. He's getting pretty good at this transfiguration thing. McGonagall would be proud, if she understood the situation.

He'd found the paper first, actually, running an errand for Harri and Sirius. He remembers standing there, watching Sirius's face as he screamed silently on the paper. He remembers snatching it up and throwing whatever coin he could reach first at the vendor. He'd rushed back to the house, arms laden with the supplies and dumped them in the kitchen for Kreacher to sort through.

"Sirius!" he'd hissed. "Give us a hand. Now!"

Disgruntled, Sirius had made his way over, Harri in tow.

"Not you, love, just Padfoot, alright?" Remus had told her, a strange manic edge to his voice. Sirius had instantly recognized it, smiling down at Harri with a touch more composure.

"Go on, go back to your reading," he'd told her, giving her a gentle nudge. Harri had looked at them with clear, somber eyes, like she understood, but left all the same, without asking questions.

Remus had pulled the paper out, shoving it in his face. At first, Sirius had just stood there, a pale imitation of a smile on his face. Remus had watched the color drain from it, the panic creep in. When he looked up, his eyes were almost as manic as the man on the paper's.

"What do we do?" he'd croaked softly. "We're fucked. We're fucked beyond belief." He began to breathe strangely, and it took Remus a minute to understand what had happened. A panic attack. He'd not had one in years, since their third year, he'd reckoned. Fuck, James had been the only one who knew what to do.

Remus had grasped his shoulders, giving him a little shake and forcing to look up.

"We cannot have you lose it now," he'd hissed. "We can't let Harri know, understand? She's too little to understand—"

"She's not stupid," Sirius had said in that same, faraway tone. "She'll piece it together. We should tell her. Everything I mean. About what really happened that night, about the traitor—"

"Like fuck you will," Remus had snarled. "She's too little and it's our job to protect her from things like that." Suddenly, he'd felt the inexplicable urge to hit him, or maybe something worse.

He'd loosened his grip, stepping back and taking a deep breath. Sirius seemed to do the opposite, his own breathing going weak and shallow. Remus let him crumple to the floor before he crouched before him.

"We're not fucked," he'd said as soothingly as possible, laying on the charm. The only weapon in his arsenal and it was weak. Fucking shame. "We'll be alright?"

"I'm not one of your pub girls, Remus, don't lie to me," he'd snarled, pulling up sharply. Remus colored at the implication.

"Just listen to me—"

"We have to move, maybe north? I've got people in Romania, maybe they'll let us—"

"We're not going to bloody Romania!"

"Not _us," _Sirius had said, giving Remus a strange look. "Harri and me." Remus could only blink, feeling as though he'd just been slapped.

"And what am I meant to do whilst you take our goddaughter galavanting across the bloody continent?" Remus had asked, voice tight.

"Make sure everything looks normal," he'd explained. "Listen, they'll come to talk to you first, and then, I don't know—"

"Don't you think they'd check with your only living relatives first?" Remus offered coldly. "And then they'd try and hunt down whatever's left of you-know-who, thinking you'd be mad enough to resurrect him."

"You-know-who is dead—"

"Don't be stupid enough to think that!"

"Alright," Sirius had snarled, all patience gone. "What shall we do, O Wise One?"

"Stay here and stay hidden," Remus had suggested. "No, think about it. The very last thing they'd expect you to do is hide out in muggle London, right? It's why your dad chose this place as the new location for the house."

"Maybe we can move the house? I mean, the magic's complicated but my dad did it, and he wasn't exactly student of the year—"

"Sirius, if only a Black can find and open the house, don't you think only a Black could perform the spell? It would take you using your wand to cast tremendous amounts of magic, traceable amounts of magic. We'll be caught if you try."

"So, what then? Carry on like this forever?" Sirius's voice had rose hysterically, and Remus was sure that if Harri wasn't already listening at the door, she'd know what they were talking about now.

"Just for now," Remus had said. "Until we can come up with a plan."

Finally, Sirius had agreed, and they'd made their way back out to the parlor, where Harri sat perched on her armchair, looking like the picture of innocence. Remus scoffed softly. So, she had been listen.

"No point in pretending you hadn't heard exactly what went on in there," Sirius had said. Harri had flushed a little, brown cheeks going rosy. Sirius had perched on the armchair and Remus had taken the sofa opposite, and they explained—without mentioning the tragic, gory details—just what was going on.

That had been two weeks ago.

Now, Remus continues his usual practice of ducking into shops, changing his appearance, and casually strolling to the next one, making the long, winding way to Grimmauld Place. By the time he makes his way to the house, he's short, squat, with a mop of dark hair, and bottle green eyes.

The door swings open the moment he steps onto the stoop, a new feature of making him part of the wards. Kreacher, the worst little house elf Remus had ever seen, had pitched a monumental fit over it, weeping about how his mistress's blood was sullied beyond repair.

Thankfully, the hall is empty, and Remus drops off the fresh supplies without having to skirt past Kreacher. Nasty little shit calls him 'mongrel.' He finds Harri sitting on the sofa, reading through the latest in the series of children's paperbacks he'd picked up for her.

"Where's Padfoot?" he asks, stooping to give her a kiss.

"Dunno," she says, distracted. "He's been running around as a dog for a while."

"As Padfoot?" Remus clarifies. Harri shrugs, setting aside her book.

"He looked upset," she says, worried. "He doesn't like being stuck in the house."

"Me neither, pet," Remus says. "Let me talk to him."

"How much longer?" Harri asks, then suddenly flushes. "It's just, Hogwarts is when I'm eleven, and that's a long time from now. What about regular school? If I don't show up, won't I get in trouble?"

"Er…" Remus really doesn't have an answer to that. Most pureblood children just have a tutor a few years before Hogwarts, to learn family history and perhaps basic magical control if their parents are so inclined. "I'll get back to you on that."

Harri nods, decidedly unsatisfied, but picks the book back up. Remus sighs. This is entirely unsustainable, but there's nothing else they can do right now.

Upstairs, Sirius is indeed Padfoot, laying waste to his father's closet while Kreacher weeps in the corner. The house elf is gasping, breathless and silent, but Padfoot doesn't cease.

"Oi!" he calls. Immediately, both of them stop.

"Mongrel has come to join the traitorous master?" Kreacher croaks, swiping snot and tears across his face.

"The contrary," he says, perhaps a little coldly. "Sirius, what do you think you're doing?" At that, he transforms back, fixing Remus with a particular sour look.

"I'm cleaning," he says haughtily.

"All I'm seeing is a mess," Remus counters, pointing out the shredded fabric everywhere.

"What the fuck else is there to do?" he says petulantly. "I'm going out of my mind."

"Just hang on a bit longer—"

"How long?" Sirius snarls. "The only thing we can do is find Wormtail and turn him in, and then—"

"What are the chances that he's even in the bloody UK?—"

"Then we should be out there! Looking for him!"

"And how do we do that with Harri? We've got a child now, we can't be running loose. She needs stability—"

"She needs space! She can't sit here in this house, cooped up, reading the same five fucking books over again!"

"She needs space, or you do?" Remus counters. Sirius's face twists up into a snarl and for a second, Remus worries he'll lunge at him, but he slumps. Remus makes his way over cautiously. He's only seen Sirius look to small and pitiful a few times in his life, and it twists something painful within him.

He loops an arm around his shoulders, surprised when Sirius leans into the touch. There had been a moment, when they were 18 and stupid, the first night they'd gotten drunk in muggle London, where Sirius had gathered him in his arms and held tight, peppering kisses on Remus's cheeks and neck, insisting he loved him.

It was foolish to think about. That Sirius had been drunk, caught up in his freedom, and lacking James, who'd snogging Lily for England at the time. This Sirius, the one almost teetering on his haunches, is a fractured, weathered version.

"Come on, my lad, just a little longer," he whispers. "Pull it together for Harri."

"Right," he mumbles. The barest flush of color dusts his cheeks. "Harri." Remus releases him, stepping away.

"Er, she's been asking about school," Remus explains hastily. "She's bored."

"Anyone would be," Sirius mutters. "We can't put her in muggle school. It's not like we can just show up for parents' night, can we?"

"Suppose not," Remus says, smiling a little at the idea. "What did you learn before Hogwarts?"

"We had a tutor," he explains. "My Great Aunt Griselda. Horrible women."

"Right, but what did she teach you?" Remus asks again, a bit pointedly.

"Er, normal things, history of the school, the family history and genealogy, Latin, that sort of thing."

"Well, we could probably teach her," Remus suggests. "Be something interesting to do at least."

"Could be." It's clear he's warming up to the idea. His eyes don't look so hollow anymore at least. "Er, but let me clean up a bit. I'm sort of… manky."

Remus chuckles, stepping out. He can grabs some books, he supposes, figure out where to start. The Potter genealogy is obscenely complicated, from what he remembers James telling him. Best to leave that out for now.

He finds Hogwarts, A History abandoned in the library and grabs it, rifling through the chapters. Houses, that probably the best to start with.

Ron Weasley gets the worst of everything. Clearly. They're sitting at the breakfast table, and Charlie, Bill, and Percy are reading their Hogwarts letters. Bill's got a shiny badge in hand, same as Charlie.

"Head Boy and the Youngest Quidditch Captain in the history of the house!" Mum cries. She beaming with pride. "Oh, I just can't believe it!"

Dad even sets his paper aside to shake their hands. He's been following the news religiously ever since that Black loon escaped from Azkaban and snatched up Harriet Potter. Ron feels bad about that, hoping she's alright. Still, she's got the whole of England out looking for her and Ron doesn't even have his breakfast yet.

"Mum," he whines, trying to get her attention. He goes ignored.

"What shall we get you?" she ask them eagerly. Presents? They get presents on top of this?

"Oh, Mum, it's alright," Bill tries to assure her. "Just letting me keep my hair like this is enough." Ron and the twins exchange looks, snickering. He's been growing his hair out for a while, and every summer since his third year, Mum's been on his case to 'look respectable'.

"William Weasley, you are going to be Head Boy!" Mum says sharply. Her face is starting to get red, a precursor to the yelling. Ron groans internally. They definitely won't be getting breakfast while it's hot. Another day of ice-cold eggs and stale toast.

Quirinus Quirrell sits at the dining room table, going through his seventh year reading list. It's expansive, he thinks, the most comprehensive list yet.

"Dad," he calls out. "When do you think we can go to Diagon Alley? I've got quite a lot to pick up."

"Look the library here!" Dad replies. Quirinus scowls, dragging himself up and out of his seat. His mum is dusting in the library, humming softly.

"Oh! Darling, you frightened me," she laughs, seeing him. Quirinus flushes a little, mumbling an apology.

"Dad sent me to see if have anything off the reading list at home," he explains, checking through the library.

"This is you're A-level year, isn't it?" she asks. He smiles.

"NEWTS, mum, but yeah," he corrects her. "In Muggle Studies, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms."

"I'm sure you'll do wonderful!" she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You know, I was just talking to—Aah!"

A tired looking grey owl hovers outside the window, sinking lower by the second. Quirinus hurries to get the window and let it in.

"Oh, that never gets any easier," his mum mutters uneasily. "Take care of it, will you darling? Send that thing on its way as fast as possible."

"Sure, mum," he says. "I'll finish up here."

With that, she hurries from the room and Quirinus takes the letter from the owl.

"Hey, Errol," he mumbles, fetching a saucer of water for him. He hoots weakly, gulping up some of the water. Poor thing.

_Dear Q, _

_You were right! Got Head Boy. Mum at it again, trying to get me to cut my hair. Says I need to look respectable. _

_Hope all's well. Did you get giant candy box from Tonks? She says she's sent them out, but I've yet to receive any. _

_Write back soon!_

_Best, _

_Bill_

_P.S. Let Errol have a good rest. If he dies while delivering this letter, I'll never hear the end of it._

Quirinus grins. Bill Weasley is without a doubt the coolest bloke at Hogwarts. He's a Gryffindor, but doesn't mind that his two best mates are in two different houses. Still, there's a strange sort of jealousy that twists in his stomach at the idea of effortless, golden boy Bill getting Head Boy.

He writes off a quick reply, assuring Bill that Tonks, the third in their Trio—a particularly feisty Hufflepuff—has not sent her presents out yet. With that, he send Errol off, feeding him some last minute bird seed to get his strength up.

He goes back to searching the shelves, stopping at a particularly intriguing title. _Magicks Moste Complex. _A subtitle boasts that only the strongest and purest of blood can learn this magic. With a start, he realizes it's dark magic. What's this doing here?

"Darling, did you find your books?" his mum calls from the safety of the living room. Dark magic isn't taught at school, not even to seventh years. Besides, it's not like he's all that great at magic either, save for defensive magic. A boy as frail as him needs to know it. He can't have Bill and Tonks protect him all the time.

Still.

He takes the book.

"Yeah, mum, I've got it."

**A/N: Shout out to my home girl for the Bill/Tonks/Quirrell headcanons, and let me know what you thought! **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hey gang! I know I'm a day late, but in my defense, it was my birthday yesterday. Either way, hope you guys enjoy!**

Harri really is the luckiest girl in the universe. Instead of having to go to regular school, Padfoot and Moony are going to teach her at home! No more mean teachers, no more cruel girls who won't play with her, and best of all, no more Dudley!

All of yesterday, Moony had sat at the kitchen table, devising up a lesson plan, flicking through a veritable mountain of books. In the meantime, Harri had coaxed Padfoot into a game of Gobstones. She was quite good, and Padfoot didn't really complain every time he lost.

"Remind me to teach you chess," he grumbled, swiping off the puss on his face.

"Is it just regular chess?" Harri asked, intrigued. She'd seen the older kids at her school play it, the year fours and fives. Padfoot shrugged.

"I've never played muggle chess," he said. "You'll have to tell me."

Today, she sits at the kitchen table, a safe way away from the books. Moony could get temperamental if they were disturbed, Padfoot explains, best to stay out of his way. She gulps down milky tea and toast, a staple around her. Kreacher's learned to do the toast just right, and he barely calls her Brat anymore. Of course, he doesn't call her Harri either. If he's talking about her, he'll just call her the child.

"What are we going to do today?" she asks the kitchen at large. Moony, still nearly invisible behind his pile of books, waves a piece of parchment at her.

"I'll translate," Padfoot says, rolling his eyes. "He means you'll have your first lesson today, soon as he's finished."

"Brilliant! Will I get a wand? What sort of magic will I learn?" Moony peeks over the pile, mouthful of toast. He swallows quickly, laughing a little.

"Not yet, darling," he says. "First we've got to talk about the basics. Keep up with the reading and the maths."

Harri flushes. She had thought she'd be done with that.

"We'll start with history, first," Moony says. "Promise I won't make it dry."

After breakfast, they troop into the library to set up their history lesson. Moony's a really good teacher, and just like he promised, it's not dry at all. She learns about Hogwarts, the houses, the founds, and the ghosts. Padfoot joins them too, peppering in his stories about Peeves, the poltergeist. Harri resolves to never cross paths with him when she gets to school.

They keep up their lesson all the way to lunch time, and Harri even gets an assignment. She's to write about her favorite part of the lesson, on parchment paper, with a quill. Nervously, she agrees. She doesn't have the best penmanship with a regular pencil, let alone a quill.

They do lessons every day, though the topic changes. Some days, Harri learns about Hogwarts and what types of magic there are. Other days, she learns about the ministry and Gringotts. Sometimes, Padfoot gives her Latin lessons.

"It'll help with your wandwork," he explains. It's difficult work, especially the Latin, but she doesn't mind. She can even introduce herself now.

Usually, Moony teaches her, with Padfoot hovering close, but he takes over when Moony has to go back.

After a week of lessons, Moony has to go back to his part of London. His boss, he had explained, was ill, and he needed to look after the shop. Padfoot had been handed a stack of notes about her lessons and off he'd gone.

The first day Moony was gone, things were mostly normal. They missed him, sure, but Padfoot carried on like Moony would. The next few days after that were… hard.

Harri could see where his patience wore thin, and she tried not to get on his nerves. It was hard to predict his moods, though, and as a result, Padfoot had snapped at her once. He'd been really sorry about it after, clinging and cuddling despite Harri's insistence that she was alright.

Today, he seems particularly strange, bustling about the kitchen, trying to cook up lunch. He'd shooed Kreacher from the kitchen and insisted that he do it himself.

"I can help," Harri offers. "I know how to make some things."

"S'alright! Here, try this!" he says brightly—strangely, Harri thinks privately—dumping a half0liquid, half-solid lump onto her plate.

"Er," she says, examining it. "What is it?"

"It's…" Padfoot trails off, the energy seeping off his face. "It's probably not good, Hazza, never mind." She tries to protest, but he doesn't let her, clearing the plate and calling Kreacher back to make her lunch.

Harri doesn't like when Padfoot goes off on his own in this house. She doesn't know where she goes, because both he and Moony had banned her from a lot of the rooms. She doesn't know what he does and he always comes back in a sad, angry mood.

As it turns out, he didn't even make it that far. Harri finds him pacing in the front hallway, muttering darkly to himself.

"Traded that fucking cell for this one," he says, low and angry. "Can't fucking stand it!"

"Padfoot?" she calls cautiously. He stops abruptly, a faint pink appearing on his cheeks. He tries for a smile, but it comes out mangled and decidedly un-Padfoot-like. "Alright?"

"Yeah, fine," he says. Even his voice is strange. Harri wishes she could fix him, make him feel better somehow. She wishes Moony was here too. "Just… er, just needed a minute, sorry, darling."

"S'okay," Harri says. She takes his hand and holds tight. It's something she learned from Moony, who'll do that to her or Padfoot when they're feeling down. "Shall we play game? Maybe you can show me wizard's chess?"

"Can't find the bloody chess set," Padfoot mutters, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Harri squeezes tighter.

"A different game? Not Gobstones, but anything you like!"

"I need some air," he says, but it doesn't sound like he's talking to her.

"Shall we open the windows?" Harri suggests. She feels squirmy and weird, and she definitely doesn't like this.

"I need to be out," he says. "I need some real air, and I need the sun."

"But—"

"I know why I can't!" he says sharply, and Harri drops his hand, shrinking back into herself. She's such an idiot, of course he knows.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Harri," he says, crouching to meet her eyes. "I'm trapped here in this house and we can't leave—"

"Because of me," she supplies, thinking back to the conversation she overheard a week ago. She'd tried to put it out of her mind, but sometimes, in moments like these, it pops back up. "If I wasn't here you could go to Romania and get the tail-thing to set you free."

"You heard that, did you?" he asks softly. "Harri, that's not true. I couldn't leave either way, and besides, I couldn't bear to go anywhere without you."

"I don't know how to help you," she confesses, guilt still swirling in her stomach.

"That's not your job," he explains. "I'm meant to take care of you, not the other way around."

"I don't mind," Harri says quickly, in case he gets any ideas of dropping her back at the Dursley's. "Really!"

"We just a break," Padfoot says, straightening up. "The both of us. Children can't be cooped up like this, it's inhumane."

Harri doesn't know that word, but it doesn't sound good.

"Kreacher!" There's a sharp crack and Kreacher appears, scowling at the pair of them.

"What does Master want now?" he sneers.

"I need you to disguise us," he explains. "I need to be shorter, paler, with blond hair and blue eyes. Same for Harri."

"Why?" Harri asks. Still, she watches, fascinated, as the change settles over Padfoot and he becomes a stranger. Kreacher turns to her and flicks his hand, and Harri gasps at the sensation of magic. It's cold and sort of ticklish.

"Brilliant," says Padfoot. "Completely unrecognizable!"

"Why do we need to be unrecognizable?" Harri pushes.

"I'm taking you to Diagon Alley!" Padfoot tells her, grinning wide. "It's a shame you've never seen it. We can get supplies, and more books to teach you, plus the best ice cream you've ever had in your life!"

"But, I thought we weren't meant to go out," she says. "Moony says—"

"Moony's not here, and I'm in charge," Padfoot says quickly. "You really want to skip ice cream?"

Harri doesn't care about the ice cream, though it does sound nice. Still, maybe this will make Padfoot feel better, and he'll be normal again. Just a quick trip where they won't speak to anyone.

"Alright," she says. "I'll come."

"Good," he says. "But I can't call you Harri. We'll have to pick something else."

"How about Hedwig?" she says. Saint Hedwig, the witch who discovered permanent sticking charms, was one of the few standouts from a _History of Magic_. Most of those lessons had been dull despite Moony's best efforts, but Harri had liked the name.

"Alright," Padfoot says. "Off we go, Hedwig, stick close now."

Snickering despite herself, Harri takes his hand and follows him out the door.

Ron's absolutely buzzing with excitement. Diagon Alley is his favorite place in the whole world, and even though neither he nor the twins are going to school this year, they're still excited to go. Ginny is the only one who's stroppy.

"I don't want to go!" she declares, stamping her feet. Bill and Mum exchange glances, and Mum's face gets read, but before Mum can yell, Bill crouches down and whispers something in Ginny's ear. At once, her expression clears, and she beams up at him.

Ron can't help the little burn of jealousy. He wishes Bill would remember he had five brothers, not just Charlie and Ginny. Still the prospect of Diagon Alley perks him up considerably.

At Diagon Alley, Ron shakes off the aftereffects of riding through the Floo. They're waiting outside Gringotts while Mum makes a withdrawal. Charlie's trying to keep Fred and George in line while Bill patiently answers all of Percy's questions. Ron's been given the task of holding onto Ginny.

Finally Mum comes back, clutching the coin purse.

"Right, three sets of supplies to buy and no dad," she mutters, shaking her head. "We'll have to divide, I suppose."

"Brilliant!" Fred crows, but Mum gives him a sharp look.

"The twins and Percy with me, while Bill, you take the rest. Keep an eye on Ron and Ginny, won't you darling?"

"Course, mum," he promises with a grin. Ron's jaw drops, he can hardly believe his luck! Grinning, Charlie swings Ginny up on his shoulder and Bill grins down at Ron.

"Meet back at the Leaky Cauldron at noon, sharp! Do not forget!" Bill assures her and they take off.

"If we're quick and you two are good, we can go to Quality Quidditch Supplies," Bill says. Happy beyond belief, Ron takes his hand, following him along.

Dot is a proper beast when she's ill, and Remus would know. He's been running back and forth between the store and her apartment, ferrying up cups of tea or books as she finishes them. She snaps at him and moans about her illness, and Remus refrains from wondering aloud how it is she's never married.

Today, though, she's well enough to come down and look after her own bloody store. Remus shoves the latest arrivals into the shelves, trying to stay clear of her. If he finishes up fast, he can go home.

It's strange that he means Grimmauld Place instead of the flat, but he can't help himself. Sirius is there with Harri, and that's where Remus belongs. It makes him feel guilty, especially since Sirius despises the place, but he's come to appreciate the cozy library he's commandeered as his classroom, and even the bedroom he's been given, despite it's silver and green décor.

He'll bring Sirius something back, as an apology. He's always been fond of muggle liquor, so Remus grabs a bottle of sherry and another of brandy to take back. Maybe they'll have a drink together after Harri's gone to bed.

Around noon, a small miracle grace's the store and Dot waves him on, insisting she can handle the crowds by herself. Remus looks around, finds a single other person browsing the store and agrees, leaving immediately.

Humming a little, he makes his way back to Grimmauld Place, the bottles carefully stowed in his bag. The door swings open for him and he calls out for Harri and Sirius, expecting at least Harri to come running up to say hello.

He calls a few more times, going so far as to check around the house, but no one is there. Even Kreacher has gone off to hide somewhere. Panic courses through him and Remus dumps the contents of his bag on the sofa, looking around wildly.

The mirror. He needs James' and Sirius' bloody mirrors. Sirius had sent Kreacher off in search a few days ago and Sirius had given one to Remus, in case of emergencies.

"Sirius Black!" he all but yells into the mirror. The man who answers is not Sirius, or so Remus thinks before he takes in the shape of his face. Sirius is going to have to work harder if he wants to disguise himself.

"Remus! Thank fuck, I was just about to—"

"Where. The. FUCK. Ar. You?" Remus snarls through tight teeth. Sirius recoils a little, shame clear on his face. Panic beats harder against him, and Remus's breathing goes faint.

"We're, uh, listen, we're in Diagon Alley—"

"Why would you be so fucking stupid—"

"Just listen!" Sirius commands and at once Remus shuts up. "I took Harri out. I know it was stupid, I know! But now I can't find her and—"

"You can't find her," Remus repeats, faint.

"No! We were going to Quality Quidditch Supplies, but there was this whole group of people, and then I saw Nymphadora, and I had to make sure she didn't see me, and in the whole commotion, I lost Harri."

"It didn't occur to you not to go out during the Hogwarts rush?" Remus asks. The panic and anger have run their course and all that's left is a cold, furious rationality. Sirius sputters, but Remus cuts him off.

"Where are you exactly?"

"The Leaky Cauldron," he says. "I told her to meet me here in case we got separated, but—"

"Stay exactly where you are and don't fucking move," Remus says. "I'm coming to get you."

**A/N: Quick question about Sirius: how does his personality feel to you guys? Is there a balance between Mauraders!Sirius and Trauma!Sirius? Let me know what you thought!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey gang! Look at me, putting updates back up on time! Anyways, enjoy the precursor to the plot kicking in!**

Diagon Alley is the coolest place Harri has ever been to. Padfoot leads her to a tiny, decrepit pub deep in London. Harri marvels at it, stunned at all the wizards around. Some read huge books with titles Harri's never seen in a normal—muggle, she supposes—library. Some sit in groups, talking and laughing as they eat. Dishes float around, drinks whizz to people's tables, and Harri watches it all with wide eyes.

"Keep up, now love," Padfoot says, grabbing her hands. He leads her through the pub to the second door, which is just a dead end. Harri quirks her eyebrow.

"Er, let's hope this doesn't set off the Trace," Padfoot mutters, fishing out his wand. He taps on the bricks and suddenly, they begin to shift. Harri gasps, hurrying forward only to be caught by Padfoot's hand.

"Hold on, let it finish," he says. Harri squirms, waiting for the wall to finish its transition to archway. Once completed, Harri all but drags him across.

"Whoa!" she gasps, watching the crowd of busy wizards and witches bustling about. The building is tall, stacked on top of each other almost precariously, but none waver. Harri reads as many signs as she can see. Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Goodwin's Apothecary, Flourish and Blots, and so many more. She sorely wished she had about eight more eyes to take it all in.

"Where should we start?" Padfoot asks her, grinning.

"Er…" Harri looks around, deciding on Gamble and Japes. It looked just as good as any to start.

"Merlin, I haven't been in ages," Padfoot says wistfully. "It was your dad's favorite place, well, that and Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor."

"Really?" Harri asks eagerly, tugging him along. Padfoot tells her all about the hours they'd put in at the shop, chasing each other around, "sampling" the products. Harri peruses every isle, peers in every crate. It's a combination toy and joke shop, and they've got something for everyone. Padfoot points out his favorites and she laughs herself silly at the stories he tells, especially the dungbombs-in-the-greenhouses story.

The head into the bookstores next, starting with Flourish and Blots. It's a bit like a mad scientist's office, she thinks, the way books are stacked everywhere, crammed into shelves. There are even some that float about lazily in the air. Harri snatches at one, plucking it off its course.

"Arithmancy for beginners," she reads aloud, flipping through the pages. It looks rather complicated, strange numbers and symbols, so she lets it go, watching in awe as it resumes its round about the store. Padfoot picks up a book about potions, and another about wards, paying extra to have the man package them all up.

Next, they make their way into the apothecary. It sort of smells in there, but Harri doesn't mind, not when there's so much to look at. She looks through the vials, plays with the barrels, dragging the scoops through them. Padfoot argues with the woman at the counter about prices— "_fifteen_ sickles for a measly little bouquet of aconite? Are you mad?"

Padfoot gives in, however, and they leave with jars, and boxes, and paper bags full of herbs. Harri assumes it's nothing to cook with.

Padfoot takes her for ice cream, and he's absolutely right, it's the best she's ever had. That's not saying too much, considering she count on one hand the number of times she's been given ice cream, but she's willing to bet it's the best in the world.

"Shall we to Quality Quidditch supplies next?" Padfoot asks. Harri's too busy devouring her cone—raspberry and chocolate with chopped nuts—but she nods. "Or the stationary shop? I do more parchment…"

She's not paying much attention to where he takes her, just watching people go by. A huge crowd, a bunch of teenagers dash past and Harri's caught in the throng. She's jostled around, loosening her grip on Padfoot's hand until she loses it altogether.

Harri turns this way and that, but she can't see him. Panic starts to swell in her chest, but she pushes it down. She needs to think. What was the store he'd said?

"Bill, can't we go into look at brooms?" a boy whines.

"Quality Quidditch Supplies!" a girl says. Yes! That had been the place! Harri watches them, a group of four, who were clearly siblings, if their matching red hair and freckles were anything to go on.

"I do need handle polish," another boy remarked to the oldest. The oldest, Bill, checked his watch.

"Mum said noon on the dot," he tells them. "If we're late, even by a minute, it's on Charlie's head."

"Hey!" Charlie, a stocky looking older boy, protests, but he's cut off, when the youngest two dash off into a shop. "Ginny! Ron! Hold on!"

Harri follows them inside, hoping to find Padfoot. Instead, all she sees are broomsticks. They're beautiful, too, so many in different designs and colors. She gasps softly. In the middle of the store, on a pedestal, sits a gleaming broomstick of dark wood, it's bristles slicked back.

"Wicked, isn't it?" says a boy. Harri turns to find one of the boys—the youngest one—standing next to her.

"Yeah," she agrees. "Do you play quidditch?" She's never met anyone who played, but Padfoot's told her plenty about her dad's games.

"No, but I will when I get to school, like my brother Charlie!" he says, pointing out his brother. "He's captain, youngest one yet!"

"My dad was captain when he went to school, too," Harri tells him excitedly.

"Cool," he says. "I'm Ron, by the way."

"I'm… er, Hedwig," Harri says. Ron gives her a funny look, but nods.

"You have any brothers or sisters in school?" he asks. "They might know mine."

"No, just me," she says. "Say, you didn't see in a man walk in here, did you? Short-ish with blond hair? I'm looking for my dad."

"No, sorry," Ron says with a frown. "Come on, Bill will know what to do." Harri follows him along to where his older brothers are looking through the racks of care supplies.

"Who's that?" the girl asks, shoving her red hair out of her face.

"This is Hedwig," Ron says. "She's lost her dad."

"Was he a sadist then?" Charlie asks with an amused chuckle. "Name like that, you'd think—"

"Charlie, shut up," Bill says sharply. He turns to her, softening. "Hedwig, was it?" Harri nods, heat flaring into her cheeks. She doesn't know what sadist is, but it doesn't sound good. Perhaps she ought to have picked a better name.

"You can come with us," Bill decides. "Mum will know what to do." Harri hesitates; if she goes with them, they might find out who she is, and tell, which would land Padfoot right back in jail. On the other hand, she's entirely lost, and they seem nice. Harri nods.

Charlie scoops up the girl and deposits her on his shoulders. Bill takes hold of Ron's hand, and before she can react, Ron takes hold of hers.

"So, you don't lost again," he says by way of explanation. They make their way back to the pub, and Bill does the tapping on the wall, opening up the door. They troop into the pub—the Leaky Cauldron, Padfoot had something about it, but she hadn't been listening—to find the rest of Ron's family. There are three more boys with their mum, a pair of twins and a thin, reedy looking boy with the same coloring.

"Who's that?" one of the twins asks.

"Oh, dear, Bill, what's this?" their mum asks, looking concerned at Harri.

"This is Hedwig, said she couldn't find her dad," Bill explains. Nervous, Harri drops Ron's hand.

"Poor little dear!" she cries. "Are you alright? Have you been alone long?"

"No, not long," Harri says. "We were supposed to go to the quidditch shop, but then I lost him, and didn't seen him in the shop."

"Right, right," she mutters to herself. "What was your name, again?"

"Hedwig," she says.

"Har—er, Hedwig!" Moony's voice rings out before Ron's mum can make much of that, and Harri absolutely sags in relief to see him.

"That's your dad?" Ron's mum asks, a bit skeptical. Thankfully, Moony hurries over before she has to answer.

"Alright?" he asks. He looks to family Harri's with and smiles. "Hi, I'm, er, John Moon, I'm Hedwig's uncle."

"My dad's brother," Harri pipes up. At that, Ron's Mum relaxes.

"Poor dear got separated," she says. "Actually, my son, Bill found her."

"Thanks so much," Moony says. He looks odd, actually, and his smile is a bit wrong. Harri recognizes it after a moment. It's the same smile Aunt Petunia gets when she can't yell at her in public. "My brother can be abysmally irresponsible." Ron's mum frowns at that, but she smiles at Harri.

"Stay safe, dear," she says, and Harri promises she will. She turns to Ron.

"Bye then," she says, a bit forlorn. He was nice.

"Bye," Ron echoes. "Maybe I'll see you at school someday?"

"Yeah," Harri says, smiling wide. "See you!" With that, Harri follow's Moony out of the pub, to the muggle side. He's silent and Harri fidgets. She'll be locked in her room for sure, probably without meals. She was so stupid to lose Padfoot like that!

Padfoot waits in an alley as Padfoot-the-dog, and he barks excitedly to see Harri, dashing up to lick her face, tail wagging. Her worries melt away and she throws her arms around him.

"Right, let's go," Moony says, holding his wand aloft. Padfoot turns back to human and scoops Harri up, instructing her to tuck her face into his neck. Then, he does something odd. He steps close to Moony and hugs him tight. Before Harri can comment, they turn on the spot and there's a loud crack before she starts to feel strange.

It happens fast. Frist she can't breathe, then she feels like she's being squeezed everywhere, and then it all stops. She slumps against Padfoot breathing hard

"What was that?" she asks, lifting her head. To her absolute surprise, they're back on the stoop of Grimmauld Place. "We're home!"

"We'll talk inside," Moony says sharply, shoving open the door and disappearing down the hallway.

Sirius sets Harri down gently, sending her on ahead. She definitely didn't need to hear this.

"Is Moony very angry with us?" she asks in a soft whisper. He swallows hard, trying for a smile.

"Just me, I think," he says. "Go on to your room for a bit. I need to talk to Moony."

"But it's my fault," Harri protests. He shakes his head, pointing upstairs.

"Sweetheart, it was all my fault," he explains. "You are not in any trouble, I promise you." A worried frown mars her little face, but she goes. Swallowing hard, Sirius heads into the kitchen, where Remus is angrily making a pot of tea while Kreacher glares at him from the corner.

"Look, it's my fault—"

"I know." Curt, but not loud. This would be bad.

"Harri—"

"Is a child," he finishes. "She cannot make her decision's, she's only seven."

"I know," Sirius parrots back, anger rising. He knows he's being irrational, that it is his fault, but he's never taken to discipline.

"How could you take her out?" Remus snarls, whirling around. "Knowing everything that we're risking to keep you safe, to keep her safe—"

"What the fuck do you think you're risking?" Sirius snarls back. It's him trapped here, day in and day out, pacing a slightly bigger cage. It's him breathing in the same air, gasping because his lungs won't fill all the way. Remus gets to go free, gets to keep his little job, gets to use magic—

"You think I'm not risking anything?" Remus hisses. "Me? If I'm caught helping you, I can't even imagine what they'll do to me!"

Sirius doesn't have anything to say to that, but his anger is deep—not just at Remus for yelling, but for everything. He seethes, absolutely shaking with his rage. Remus shuts his eyes and sucks in a deep breath.

"Today was bad," he says, forcing a calm. "If the charm wore off, Harri Potter would've been revealed in the streets, ripe for anyone to snatch up for the reward."

"What reward?" Sirius retorts, anger still prevalent. Remus gives him a weird look.

"Sirius, it's all over the prophet—"

"I know, about how I've kidnapped her—"

"No! The ministry's put together a search party, and they've got a decent reward going for anyone who brings Harri in unharmed. Didn't you read the paper this morning?" In truth, he hadn't. He'd already been spiraling when he woke, and the paper seemed incredibly trivial. Another crucial mistake.

"I didn't, I didn't know," he stammers, swallowing hard. Remus shakes his head, looking fearfully up.

"We can't tell her," he says softly. "You know what James would've done, and she'll do the same." James would've marched right in and turned himself in if it meant that he could save Sirius, and Harri has proven over and over again that she truly is his daughter.

"What do we do?" Sirius asks miserably. He knows the answer. More waiting here, safe and hidden, in the house where he first learned that parents didn't always love their children, that fathers weren't afraid to sink their fists in their son's stomach, over and over until he cried out for mercy.

"We can't live like this," Remus decides. "We need help."

"Help? Who in Merlin's name is going to help us?" he asks. There's a strange look in Remus's eyes. If they'd been in school, it definitely would've resulted in detentions for a month. "Remus—"

"We need an ally," he says abruptly. "Someone that people trust and will trust us."

Sirius realizes what he means in an instant, and frankly, he's torn between fear that this will result in his direct imprisonment and, for the first time in a while, hope.

Late August finds Albus Dumbledore a very busy man. There are nine days until term starts again, and just yesterday, Louvenia Templeton has announced this will be her last year teaching muggle studies. She's decided to live with her children in America, to study the muggles there. To make matters worse, Fawkes has begun molting, a sure sign of rebirth. He will be particularly difficult in the coming weeks.

Currently, he's sitting at his desk going over the final list for the upcoming class of first years. He ticks through, making sure each child has responded. Once he's finished verifying Weasley, Percival's attendance—no doubt a Gryffindor—an owl hoots outside his open window.

"Ah," he says gesturing for the owl to come in. "What do you have for me? Fawkes, if you wouldn't mind moving aside to let this poor fellow rest, he looks as if he's had a very long flight." Fawkes gives him a reproachful look, but steps aside.

Albus unfurls the sheet of parchment tied carefully to the owl's leg, apologizing for the intrusion.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I know that the last time we spoke, I told you I had no idea about Sirius and Harri, but things have changed. I believe we can trust you and I hope you can trust me enough to give us a chance. Please let me know if you'd be willing to listen to us. I think you'd understand once you've heard._

_Thank you,_

_Remus Lupin_

Albus reads the letter a few times, but the words don't change. Remus had been quite convincing the last time they'd spoke, and his mind—Albus had only probed gently, just to check that he was being truthful—had been sincere. What a clever boy.

Harri.

He wouldn't have called her that if he meant to harm her. He'd call her the child, or something to that affect.

And then there was the issue of Sirius. It had stunned him to know he'd betrayed the Potter's, betrayed his very closest friend like that. Frankly, Albus's trust in others has been waning for quite some time, but that had destroyed him.

Still, Remus was a good person, no matter how clever or duplicitous he could be. Kindness shone through him, and Albus knew that he wouldn't hurt James and Lily's daughter, not when they'd shown him such kindness.

There was also the matter of Petunia's reaction to consider. Of course, she'd been near hysterics when he'd visited, and had almost refused him entry, but eventually, she'd given in. When he'd asked after Harri, she'd told him rather coldly that her godfather had come to collect her.

When he'd asked if there was anything dangerous about the man, she'd sneered her response, but had stopped, and in a rather confused tone, informed him that Sirius had sworn to protect her. Not take care of or anything that could have sinister connotation but protect.

As he was leaving, she'd asked him uncertainly about the blood wards, about Lily's protection. Albus still didn't have an answer, despite the weeks spent researching.

Deeply uncertain, Albus pulls out a quill and a fresh roll of parchment and begins to pen a response. Time to see where everyone's loyalties truly lied.

**A/N: Alrighty then, time for actual plot! Tune in next week!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Alright, we're getting into the plot! Hope you enjoy! **

Neither Moony nor Padfoot will tell Harri what's going on, but she knows they're waiting for something. They pace by the windows in the kitchen, and by the time Kreacher finishes dinner, neither of them is in a mood to eat.

At first, Harri thinks it's because of the Diagon Alley trip, that they are angry with her, but Moony pulls her aside and promises her it's not. He still won't tell her what, though. Around eleven, when Harri can no longer force herself to be awake, she pads into the kitchen to inform them she's going to bed, and they see her off with hurried kisses.

Strange.

The next morning is stranger still, because when Harri comes downstairs, she finds Kreacher attempting to set the table for breakfast, muttering darkly about 'Master' and the 'Beast' cluttering up his kitchen. As it is, they're both slumped on the table, dead asleep.

"Padfoot?" Harri says, poking his shoulder. He jolts up with a start, bleary eyed and panicked.

"Is it here?" he demands.

"What? Is what here?" Padfoot cranes his neck out the kitchen window, and Harri is suddenly reminded of Aunt Petunia, who liked to use her long neck to spy on the neighbors. Only difference is, Padfoot has his eyes turned to the sky.

"Moony," Harri says, poking him too. "What are you waiting for?" Moony wakes much more slowly, his eyes still drooping as he pulls himself up.

"What time is it?" he croaks.

"Morning," Harri says. "What are you waiting for?"

"Remus," Padfoot says, and Moony is up, alert and worried. "It's here." A giant owl flies through the open window and Kreacher shrieks, waving his wooden spoon at it, but Padfoot pushes him away. Remus sets down a saucer of water and plucks the tightly rolled parchment off its leg before it can even offer.

Padfoot and Moony huddle together to read it, and Harri starts to get cross. Trying to keep her anger in check, she flops down in one of the seats, waiting. Kreacher, still upset and eyeing the owl like he'd like to cook it up, sets down a cup of tea for her.

Padfoot sinks down to the floor, onto his knees, eyes unfocused and far away. Harri hurries towards them, worried.

"Padfoot!" she says. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"I suppose we ought to tell her," Padfoot says, not looking at her. "No point in lying if we've got to go."

"S'pose so," Moony says with a sigh. He takes a seat and offers a hand to Harri. "We sent a letter to someone very important yesterday, asking if he'd listen to us about Siri—er, Padfoot."

"About why he was in jail even though he never did anything?" Harri guesses.

"Yeah," Moony says. "He wrote back and he's willing to listen to us."

"Who is it?"

"Albus Dumbledore," Padfoot says, finally getting off the floor to take a seat. "Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts! The magic school?" Harri clarifies. Perhaps he knows someone on the council, maybe a barrister or someone. Harri wonders briefly if wizards even had barristers.

"He's… pretty important," Moony says. "He can help us set Padfoot free, I think." At that, Padfoot snorts.

"Can I see the letter?" Harri asks. Moony spreads it out on the table for her to see, smoothing out the rolled parchment.

_Remus, _

_I can only offer a chance to explain. Sunday, at nine. Head to Hogsmeade, find Aberforth. He will send you to me. _

_Remember, I will know if I am being deceived. _

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harri's not sure about the man, especially after that last line. What if he rings the police as soon as they get there?

"It's our best bet," Moony explains. "If Dumbledore vouches for Sirius, the world will just fall in line."

"If," Padfoot says. "And it's a very big 'if'."

Sunday Morning, Nymphadora Tonks is woken to a great banging on her door. She wakes with a jolt, falling out of bed. Tangled in her duvet, she fights to shove it down and get some air. Her room is absolute mess, the entire contents of her school trunk covering every spare inch of the room.

"Nymphadora, get up now! You've only got two days to pack and I know you haven't gotten started!"

"Mum," Tonks groans, finally freeing herself of the duvet. "Leave it, won't you? It's so early."

"If I don't hurry you, there'll still be packing to do on Tuesday morning, and I'm not having it." With that, her mother bursts in, taking in the state of the room with a deep sigh. "Nymphadora, this is entirely unacceptable."

"Mum," Tonks all but growls. "Do _not_ call me Nymphadora."

"It's a lovely name," Mum sniffs. "It means 'gift of the nymphs', you know."

"Mum," she says, already exhausted. "You've only told me about a million times." Thankfully, her dad chooses then to intervene.

"Andy, leave her, won't you? We've only got our little girl for two more days before she's off for her last year," Dad says, wrapping his arms around her Mum and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Tonks tries and fails to hide a smile. "Still, pet, best to start with the packing now, don't you think?"

"I haven't even had any breakfast," she whines. She'll have to do the packing by hand, because all three of them have the worst organizational spells ever. It doesn't seem like it, but she gets her catastrophic tendencies from her mum, not her dad.

"Well come on, then!" They make their way into kitchen, where Morgause, their owl, waits with letters in beak. Mum grabs them, reading their senders out.

"Darling, one from William and one from Quirinus." Tonks grabs the letters, tearing them open.

"Mum, it's _Bill_ and _Q_," she corrects. It's hopeless to try, though. She scans through them quickly, just updates about the many Weasley siblings and thanks for the sweets from Bill, and thanks from Q, along with a rambled few paragraphs on DADA. She smiles. Merlin, she'd missed them.

Just two more days. Two more days and she'd be back.

*  
Sunday morning, Remus, Sirius, and Harri head out to find a secluded spot to apparate from. Remus settles Harri on his back and hoists Sirius in dog form up into his arms. Overbalanced and a bit unsure, he turns on the spot, focusing on The Hogshead pub.

He opens his eyes and they've arrived, limbs still intact. He drops Sirius a bit unceremoniously, who scampers off to turn back, and helps Harri down.

"Will we have to do that again?" she asks, shaking a little. Remus smooths back some of her errant hair.

"We have to get back somehow," he says. "Sorry, darling." It's early, but the Pub's door is unlocked. Aberforth stands behind the counter, a tall, imposing figure. He expects Harri to shrink back, but she just keeps clutching his hand, head high and eyes curious.

"So, it's true then?" he asks gruffly. "About you I meant, Black."

"No," Sirius sneers, temper clearly rising. Remus swallows, settling his free hand on his shoulder.

"Er, Professor Dumbledore sent us—"

"Don't you think I know that?"

"Right…" Aberforth sighs, gesturing for them to follow them back. There's a dingy little room there, and unconsciously, Remus tugs Harri closer. There's a portrait of a girl, who can't be much older than Harri, smiling genially at them. Harri gives her a wave and the girl lights up, clapping her hands. At this, Aberforth softens.

"Will you take them back, Ari?" he asks. "He's expecting them." The girl nods once, holding her hand out. "The wain first."

"I don't think so," Sirius snarls, stepping in front of Harri protectively. She peeks out behind his legs and points to the portrait.

"Where is she going?" Harri asks, and Aberforth regards her with cool eyes.

"Go and find out," he says. Sirius tries to protest, but Harri steps forward, and suddenly she's gone. Before either of them can begin, Aberforth simply points. Harri's in the portrait, retreating back like she's following a long hallway.

"This is rather advanced," Remus mutters, studying it closer.

"Well, you can ask him about it," Aberforth growls. "Go on, I haven't got all day!" Sirius steps in next and Remus has the presence of mind to thank him before he goes in. It is a long corridor, he realizes, hurrying to catch up. Suddenly he's falling out, tripping over the frame. He swears softly, hopping to correct himself.

"Ah, Mr. Lupin." Remus jerks up, finding Dumbledore before him. Sirius has Harri's hand, clutching like it's a lifeline. "Right on time."

"Professor," he says, inclining his head.

"Let's take this into my office," Dumbledore suggests. "Sirius, I'd appreciate if you'd loosen up."

"Professor, with all due respect, I'm not fond of people poking around in my head," he says tightly. Occlumency was something Remus could never master, nor James, but Sirius was brilliant about it.

Dumbledore hums softly, leading them to the statues of the Eagles that protect his office. He says the password and the four of them head up. The office is just like Remus remembers it, covered in portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses. Phineas Nigellus snoozes away, tucked in his corner. The first thing Sirius had done was stick a curtain up over him.

"Sirius," Dumbledore says, a note of distrust in his voice. "How am I possibly to know if you are telling the truth?"

"Professor, perhaps you could just trust me," Sirius says, a little cold. Dumbledore quirks an eyebrow but doesn't respond. Instead, he turns to Harri.

"Ah, you must be Harriet," he says, smiling kindly at her. Harri nods.

"Yes, sir," she says.

"Do prefer Harri?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Harri, could you tell me how you came to be here? I was under the assumption you'd be with your Aunt and Uncle."

"Padfoot—er, Sirius is my Godfather, sir," she explains. "He came to get me and we…"

"Go on," Dumbledore prods her. There's a strange look on her face that Remus can't make out, but it's entirely familiar.

"Sir," Harri starts carefully. "Sirius didn't do anything wrong." Dumbledore seems surprised, but he nods once.

"Are you happy?" he asks. "Are you treated well?" Privately, Remus thinks he really doesn't give a shit, considering he left Harri to live with Petunia and her husband, but he forces himself to keep his face calm. If anything, he's an exceptional liar, good enough to fool even a Legilimens. It's his one true talent.

"It's really good, sir," Harri promises, a smile breaking out on her face. "Padfoot and Moony are the best! They're teaching me about Hogwarts!"

At that, Dumbledore smiles.

"Would you like to see something interesting?" he asks, walking over and holding a hand out for her. She looks to both him and Sirius, who nod. "Do you know what a phoenix is, Harri?"

Dumbledore leads her away, to a back room and Remus catches Sirius's eye, shaking his head once. It's their signal to calm down, though usually, it was James who kept everyone in check while Remus talked them out of detention.

After a moment, Dumbledore returns, sans Harri, and takes a seat at his desk, imploring them to as well.

"I'm failing to understand," he says plainly.

"Poking around in a seven-year-old's head isn't going to do much either," Sirius all but snarls. Remus kicks him discreetly.

"I understand how you feel about legilimency," Dumbledore says. "But it won't harm either of you. How else am I meant to understand?"

"We made an unbreakable vow," Remus admits. "That's how I knew he was telling the truth."

"You'll forgive me if I don't favor that," Dumbledore says, shaking his head. "There is a certain element of dark magic to it, and an accomplished wizard can manipulate it. Sirius has always been an outstanding wizard."

"Professor," Sirius starts, much more controlled. "Please let me explain."

"Begin."

"You told James and Lily there was a traitor in the group," Sirius says. "He was worried about me, about what the traitor would do to get to me. James knew I wouldn't have betrayed them, but he thought someone might torture me, I dunno. I didn't… I didn't know what I'd do under torture, so we came up with a plan. We decided we'd switch secret keepers, so even if I was captured, I wouldn't be able to say anything."

"And who was the secret keeper?" Dumbledore asks, frowning thoughtfully.

"Peter… Pettigrew," Sirius chokes out. "He didn't go on missions, just ran messages, so we thought… we didn't know—"

"Sirius," Dumbledore interrupts softly. "Either you're telling the truth or putting on the performance of a lifetime, but I need to know for sure."

"How?" Remus demands. There's a part of him that wants to wrap Sirius up in his arms, stroke his hair back, and reassure him, but another part wants to lunge across the desk. Remus takes a careful breath. The full moon is in a week, and already he's feeling the effects.

"Do you know what a penseive is?" he asks. Remus shakes his head but Sirius nods.

"Yes," he says stiffly. "My grandfather had one."

"A penseive, Remus, is a device that allows memories to be seen and shared. A memory can be extracted and displayed." Remus looks at Sirius, who worries his lip.

"I'll show you," he says, sounding defeated. "I'll show you when we switched."

**A/N: I'm not going to lie, I spent a long time agonizing over what Dumbledore might believe, and I decided on the pensieve. There will be a bit more explanation on it later as it crops up, but look forward to a flashback next chapter. Also, how do you guys feel about the updates from other characters? We've got some from the Weasley's and their friends, and if you have ones you'd like to request, or if you want me to do away with them entirely, let me know! Thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hope you guys enjoy the chapter, and hopefully, my allusions make sense!**

_Sirius paces around the small living room, agitated and anxious._

"_You're being ridiculous," James says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's got his glasses dangling precariously in his free hand._

"_Am I?" he asks tightly. "Moony fucked off—without leaving any word, mind you—to do merlin knows what for merlin knows who—"_

"_Dumbledore," James nearly growls. "He's doing a job for Dumbledore."_

"_Why wouldn't he tell us?" Sirius shoots back. The third in the room, Peter Pettigrew sat in the corner, twisting his hands together._

"_Moony doesn't keep secrets from us," Peter says._

"_Both of you, shut up!" James yells, lurching to his feet. "Moony is not the traitor! I know it!"_

"_Prongs," Sirius says softly. "Think about Lils and Harri. Is that a chance you're willing to take?" James breathes hard, eyes going blurry with tears. Angry, he swipes them away, but he slumps defeated. Sirius has dealt a winning blow._

"_We're telling Moony," James says acerbically. "As soon as he gets back, we'll tell him and sort all this out. Then you'll see he's not the traitor and the both of you will shut up about traitors."_

"_Of course, Prongs," Peter says, hurrying over to him. "I'll tell him myself about the switch, even. When is he coming back?"_

"_November twelfth," James says dejectedly. "Let's get this over with."_

_Sirius pulls out his wand, waving it in a complicated shape, and suddenly thin, golden lines appear between he and James, binding them together._

"_Peter Pettigrew," James says dutifully. "I choose you to guard my deepest secret. Only you may divulge it. Swear it shall be yours to keep."_

"_I swear it," Peter recites, a note of fear turning his voice squeaky. The line unwinds itself from Sirius's wrist and moves through the air, latching onto Peter. He hisses as it winds up tight._

"_We shouldn't tell anyone," Peter says suddenly, watching the gold line fade. "Just the three of us knowing keeps us safe. Not even Dumbledore."_

"_But we tell Moony as soon as he gets back," James adds. Sirius loops an arm around him, shaking his lightly to cheer him._

"_November twelfth," Peter says. A strange smile blooms on his face._

The memory dissolves and Remus jerks away, reeling. He runs his hands through his hair, surprised that it's dry. He knows what happened, but seeing it hurts all the same. He can barely look over at Sirius, anger and shame coursing through him. He should have just told them about the wolves. Then James would've been able to convince Sirius to wait at least.

God, Peter.

How had he missed all the signs? He's grown despondent as the war waged on, took longer and longer with his messages. They'd thought he'd just been scared, thought he'd just been the same, sniveling, cowering little child he was when they first met.

"This is your untampered memory?" Dumbledore asks lightly, reminding Remus of his presence. Sirius nods, and Remus forces himself to look. His expression is drawn, tight with that looks like anger. Remus knows it's guilt.

"You were telling the truth," Dumbledore murmurs, although it sounds like he's talking to himself. Remus sits heavily against the wall. They're in a separate room, having left Harri and the phoenix in the outside chamber.

"It was stupid," Sirius grits out. "We thought that Peter—"

"It's alright, Sirius," Dumbledore says graciously. "Unfortunately, I'll need one more memory from you."

"Which one?" Sirius says wearily. Remus wants to shield him, wants to demand what makes Dumbledore think he needs anymore proof.

"Halloween night," Dumbledore says softly. "Please, I need to make sure—"

"I didn't kill the muggles," Sirius finishes for him, tone acidic. "Fine, but Remus doesn't see this one."

"What?" Remus angrily demands. "I'm coming—"

"No, you're not," Sirius says. "This one… is hard. I…"

"Please, Remus," Dumbledore says. "At the very least, Harri will need some company."

"Just go," Sirius says, sounding utterly defeated. "This one will… this one will prove it."

Scowling, Remus stalks off. He knows what happened in this one, and he knows what Sirius is doing, trying to shield him from both Sirius and Peter's worst moments. He finds Harri with the phoenix, stretched up on her tiptoes to try and pet him.

"Did you ask?" Remus says, startling her a little. Harri jumps, dropping her arm like a naughty child caught.

"The Headmaster was with you," Harri says, sheepish. Remus chuckles.

"I meant the phoenix."

"I did," she says excitedly. "And it bowed to me!"

"Dumbledore's had him for a while," Remus says, coming to stand next to her. "Since I was in school."

"How many years ago was that?" she asks.

"About ten," he says. He thinks about Peter, the small boy he, James, and Sirius had saved from merciless fourth year Slytherins. He thinks about the man who'd smiled at James and Sirius, knowing that his plan to betray his oldest friend was coming to fruition.

"What did you do in that room?" Harri asks, voice dropping.

"We proved it," Remus says, suddenly exhausted. "We proved his innocence to Dumbledore at least."

"Why hasn't Padfoot come out yet?"

"He has to show him one more thing, and then Dumbledore will help us, I believe." Just then, Dumbledore strides out of the room, followed by a particularly angry Sirius.

"Professor?" Remus asks cautiously.

"Forgive me," Dumbledore says simply. "I did not think that… my trust in you, and your bond with James Potter, wasn't enough. I should have fought for you, Sirius. That is one of my greatest regrets."

"Will you help us now?" Sirius asks.

"It will be difficult, I think," Dumbledore says, gesturing for them to sit in front of his desk. Harri scrambles up on Sirius's lap and he clutches her tight, like she grounds him. "The Wizengamet have forbidden a great many things in their court, but with the right Legisparitus—"

"Magical barrister," Sirius translates quietly to Harri.

"Yes, with the right representation, we could get these memories verified, and your wand examined," Dumbledore muses. "I might have the right man for you, but I will have to speak to him."

"So what now, professor?"

"For now, return to where you've been and wait for my owl," Dumbledore says. "I know it's dreadful to wait, but you only have to be patient a little longer."

"You'll be rather busy won't you, professor," Sirius says quietly. "The school year starts tomorrow."

"I will make time for this, Sirius, I swear to you," he says resolutely. "I promise you will be free."

Draco Malfoy wakes to a soft knock on his door. He'd been having a good dream, something about going flying, so when he lifts his head, Dobby recoils back.

"Master Draco, your mother is requesting you for breakfast." He groans, flopping back against the sheets, but Dobby stands at the door, waiting for him to move so he can clean. Still, it fills him with a sense of importance when Dobby calls him "Master Draco" instead of "Young Master". It reminds him he is not a child anymore.

Draco pulls himself out of bed and heads to the bathroom to get ready. As a young man, he does not request help fastening his clothes on, no matter how the buckles trouble. Mother will just have to wait, he thinks, now that he is too big to be put over father's knee.

"Master Draco," Dobby says hesitantly. "Can Dobby assist you?"

"No!" He wrestles a buckle into place and scrutinizes it carefully. Finally! "I'm ready." When he exits the room, it is flawlessly cleaned, but Draco still gives Dobby that look Father has perfected and says, "Clean up around here for once."

Downstairs, mother is sitting at the table with a bowl on untouched porridge in front of her. She's reading the newspaper, and whatever is on it must make her very upset. Her mouth is pinched up, but when she sees Draco, she softens, holding her arms out for him.

Mother holds him surprisingly tight, pressing one kiss too many to his face. He's not a child anymore and he mustn't be coddled. Still, even grown sons must accommodate their mothers. Grandmother is over very often, and father obliges her every whim.

Thankfully, she pulls back and smooths his hair out of his face. Mother presses her thumbs to his cheekbones gently, scrutinizing him carefully, and suddenly, Draco is afraid. Something particularly unpleasant is about to happen.

"Mother," he says, trying to appease whatever it is. "Good morning." This must be the right thing to say because she releases him with one final stoke of his cheek and allows him to take his seat. Thank Merlin father wasn't around to see such a display.

"Draco," Mother starts, taking a careful sip of what must be cold tea. "You must promise to behave today, do you understand?"

"Are we going to have guests? Are Crabbe and Goyle coming over?" he asks, trying not to let his excitement show. He doesn't need playmates, of course, he's too old for that, but associate—like his father has—are always welcome.

"Not today," Mother sighs. A cold feeling slips down Draco's spine and he holds himself very still.

"Are we…" he swallows, trying to master himself. "Are we going to see… her?"

Father finally appears, cutting to the conversation short. He gives his wife a perfunctory kiss and pats Draco's head before he sits.

"Will you come with us, Lucius?" Mother asks nervously. Father doesn't waver, instead snapping open the paper. Sirius Black's face is plastered all over the front and he flinches away. Draco's not scared of the mad man, but he'd be stupid to not be wary of a child stealing freak.

"Lucius!" Mother presses, almost frantic.

"You'll go with Draco," he says finally. "Speak to her about… what we spoke about yesterday."

"I told you I didn't want any part in it!" At this, Father slams down the paper and Draco shrinks in his head, heart racing. Mother holds firm, and to Draco's shock, her eyes well up with tears. "I didn't say anything when you joined, but now that he's gone—"

"Enough, Narcissa!" Mother goes deathly still and Father flounders, coloring slightly. Draco presses himself closer to the chair.

"You presume, because you are my husband that you can tell me what to do—"

"Cissy, of course I wouldn't—"

"Do not call me that and do not interrupt. I will go today, because you are clearly a coward!" With that Mother stalks out of the dining room. Father, still red faced, retreats behind the paper. Draco pushes away his breakfast, suddenly not hungry.

Sirius is exhausted, but he still needs to speak to Remus. When they get back to Grimmauld Place, Remus takes Harri back to the library, for a lesson on history. Sirius hangs around, waiting for him to be finished.

Lunch is quiet and decidedly uncomfortable, and Harri looks between them, sensing the discomfort. After, Harri's sent to go write another essay, and she is particularly unhappy about it. Sour faced, Harri stomps off to go write her essay and before Remus can find some task to occupy himself, Sirius corners him.

"So, what, you're just not going to talk to me?" he asks.

"What's to discuss?" Remus asks. "You didn't want to me to see—"

"You wanted to watch Wormtail blow up thirteen muggles, is that it?" Sirius snarls, suddenly angry. "It wasn't something I wanted to watch ever—"

"Sirius, of course not," Remus says. "You don't have to spare me. That's what I was trying to tell you. You're my best mate, and you're all there is left, I can't—" Suddenly Remus goes pink and silent, glaring down at his feet. "I'm sorry you had to watch that back. That's not something you deserved, now or the first time."

Sirius doesn't quite know what to say to that and he can feel himself getting red-faced too. Remus clears his throat, look at him finally.

"We're mates, yeah," he says, a bit awkward. "You don't have to go it alone. Not for anything, not anymore."

"I was wrong," Sirius blurts out suddenly. "I shouldn't have asked James to switch, not to Peter anyways. I don't know why I didn't trust you, but I'm sorry. It… it's my biggest mistake."

"Sirius," Remus starts. "That autumn… I was scouting other werewolves, trying to convince them not to join you-know-who. I didn't want you or Prongs to know because… I dunno—"

"You don't have to explain it," Sirius promises. "I trust you. I'll always trust you."

**A/N: Hopefully it's clear as to who Draco and his mom were supposed to visit! As for the why? We'll get into that later. Let me know what you thought!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hey, gang, sorry about the lateness, but there are some crucial plot points in this chapter that I really struggled to work in seamlessly. Either way, hope you guys enjoy!**

Narcissa Malfoy clutches her son's hand tight as she makes her way to the portkey station. Draco is whining, about the heat, about the visit, everything, and it is starting to build to a headache. He really does take after Lucius that way.

"We are here to see Bellatrix Lestrange," she tells the wizard at the desk. The small Azkaban mainland office is stuffy, the heat even more oppressive inside than out. "I arranged a visit."

"Mrs. Malfoy!" The wizard realizes. "Er, right. If you'd just follow me, it'll be leaving in a mo'."

"Fine," she says sourly, pulling Draco closer.

"Mummy," he says softly, and promptly Narcissa's heart breaks. She hasn't been called that all summer, ever since Lucius had decided Draco was too old to do so. "I don't want to see Aunty Bella."

"Behave, Draco," she whispers. "You must be a very good boy."

"I don't like going," he says, squirming away as the portkey begins to glow. Narcissa sighs, hauling Draco up onto her hip. She grunts quietly under the weight but says nothing. Her son will never be a burden to her.

"Er, hands on please," the wizard says, offering the portkey—an empty ink bottle. Draco clings tight, burying his face in her neck. It is a testament to his fear that he doesn't whine about the indignation of being held.

The trip is brief, but portkey's have never agreed with her. She sways for a second, trying to find her balance before letting Draco down. He clings to her skirts, watching the dementors fly past. The wizard busies himself with conjuring up a patronus. After a few aborted tries, Narcissa hisses at him to stop.

"Expecto patronum!" The memory she conjures is fairly recent, just two years ago. She'd been sitting in the garden, watching Draco play with the new toy broomstick he'd gotten. He'd slipped off the end a few times but he hadn't cried once, instead clambering right back on with a fierce determination.

"Mummy! Are you watching? I'm doing it!" He'd called out after successfully mounting the broomstick. It only rose a scant two feet, just enough for Draco's feet to skim through the grass, but it excited him to no end. She watched as his face went rosy with pleasure.

Lucius had come out then, having heard the commotion, and to Narcissa's surprise, he'd beamed at Draco, swinging him up off the broomstick and up onto his shoulders.

"What a clever boy!"

The warmth of the memory flows through her, through her magic, and through her wand, resulting in a perfect raven. It flies on ahead, driving the dementors back.

"Thanks," the wizard says. Narcissa's lip curl. Probably a mudblood. Can't even do the spell correctly. She clutches Draco closer.

"Er, you can speak to her outside her cell—"

"We'll speak to her in the back office," she says, pouring ice over her words. People of lesser status seemed to fall into line more easily like that.

"Er, Mrs. Malfoy—"

"Do as I say," Narcissa says coldly. "Bring Bella to me." She leads Draco on ahead, letting him cling as closely as he pleased. The back office has been out of use for a while, but after her blood-traitor of a cousin escaped, they've been using it again.

Narcissa sits at the table, pulling Draco up into her lap. She smooths his hair back, trying to make his look more presentable. His hair is whiter—like Lucius—rather than silvery, like hers. Narcissa sighs; Bella hates anything to do with Lucius, even though Narcissa chose him herself.

"Cissy!" Bella looks truly awful, gaunt and pale in a way that makes her eyes bug out. Her hair is a tangle of black curls, and when she smiles, Narcissa's can't help but wrinkle her nose at the rotting teeth.

"Bella," she sighs, gently setting Draco down and hurrying over to sweep Bella into her arms. She hugs her sister hard, like she could force the life back into her. "Have you heard?"

"About dear, old Sirius?" Bella cackles. "Foolish! He's a blood traitor. The dark lord would never take scum like that."

"He's taken the girl," Narcissa says, a bit more urgently. "You said there was a contingency. Something to do with the girl."

"I need out of here before I can—Draco!" Draco shrinks back from his Aunt's gaze, but he takes a deep breath and makes his way over.

"Hello, Aunty Bella," he says politely. "How are you?" Bella scoffs, grabbing Draco's chin roughly. Narcissa scowls, ready to intervene, but Bella releases him with a sigh.

"You look more and more like your father everyday. Good for nothing but his looks and money," Bella says nastily.

"The contingency, Bella?" Narcissa says pointedly, offering her a seat. Bella drops heavily into the seat.

"Yes," she says. "We need to talk."

It's been three awful days, and Sirius is nearly sick with worry. Remus busies himself with teaching Harri, keeping her as occupied as he can. He'd asked Sirius to start teaching her latin, but he couldn't.

Harri watches him with concerned eyes, scrutinizing his every moves. It's something James would've done, although James would have confronted Sirius about it. Harri simply waits for him to talk about it. That, he has to attribute to Lily.

On the fourth day, Sirius picks at his breakfast, mostly watching the kitchen window. To his surprise, a large tawny owl flies towards them, and Sirius nearly unseats Harri in his haste to get to the window to let it in.

The owl hoot indignantly as Sirius plucks the letter off it's foot, but Remus is there to smooth ruffled feathers and get the owl something to drink and a treat.

_Sirius, _

_It took some time to find someone willing to listen, but I found a Legisparitus willing to represent you. His name is Geoffrey Abbott. He is extremely accomplished and has agreed to take the case. You may remember him, he was a fifth year Hufflepuff when you were a first year. He's asked to meet to starting building your case. Please be at the Hogshead Pub at 3 pm tomorrow, where we will all meet to discuss. _

_Do not lose faith. _

_Albus_

Sirius sighs, settling back weakly in his chair. Harri and Remus exchange worried looks, so he hands the letter to Remus, who reads it aloud at Harri's insistence.

"Well," Remus says. "This is good news, right?"

"I… yeah, it is," Sirius says. There's a heavy pit in his stomach, a tight ache that makes him distrustful. "Do you remember this Geoffrey bloke, then?"

"Can't say I do, but he was a Hufflepuff, so there's that, at least," Remus says. He sets a comforting hand on the back of Sirius's neck, just above his shoulder blades, his fingers brushing through the mangy locks.

"We'll be alright, now, won't we?" Harri asks. "This man is going to help us, right?"

"Course he is," Remus assures her. Sirius forces himself to smile, to ruffle her hair a bit, but she sees through him effortlessly, her small features pinching up in uncharacteristic anger.

"I'm not going to let anyone take you!" she declares.

"I know, love," Sirius says softly. Loyalty was James' fatal flaw, he won't let it be Harri's as well. "Suppose I ought to brush a bit on laws. There's a book somewhere in the library."

"Come on, Harri, let's get back to our lessons," Remus says.

"Oh, but I hate maths, Moony," she whines, slumping in her seat. He laughs, holding a hand out for her. She takes it limply.

"It'll be very important if you ever take arithmancy," Remus explains. "Come on."

The rest of the day is spent in the library, where Remus keeps Harri as occupied as he can. Sirius digs out the old volumes on wizarding laws, flipping through it as calmly as he can manage. It sort of reminds him of being in school again, cooped up in the library, cramming for exams that only Remus seemed to actually study for.

There are whole sections as to what the Wizengamot finds as permissible evidence, and Sirius balks to find legilimency completely impermissible. Apparently even the strongest legilimens is powerless a particularly good occlumens, which, admittedly Sirius is. It's one of the Black family talents he had instilled in his head from a very young age.

They take lunch in the library, but Kreacher absolutely refuses to serve dinner there as well. In the end, it's Harri that convinces them, begging off her pretend schoolwork. Sirius scrutinizes her carefully. She's looking a bit pale, actually, and a little thin, despite the way she eats her weight at almost every meal.

He realizes with a start that it's the house. The house will always be an awful, dark place no matter how much love he and Remus pour into it. Poor Harri hasn't seen actual sunshine in weeks now.

She doesn't ever complain, but Sirius can recall watching her sit as close to the windows as possible, pressing her tiny face against the warm panes to try and soak in the sun. He says a silent prayer—to whom, he has no idea—that if anything should come of this trial business, it should be Harri's freedom.

Sirius looks over the table to Remus, who's helping Harri cut up her meat. Remus deserves freedom too. He deserves to go out without watching over his shoulder, without worrying about him.

"Shall we try and look for that old chess set?" Sirius offers, plastering on a smile. He has to try, for them at least, to be optimistic. No sense in worrying them. "After dinner."

"I thought we already looked everywhere," Harri says, though she does brighten at the prospect of a game night.

"What's the harm in checking again," Sirius says brightly. "If we can't find it, then Harri, you can kick our sorry arses at gobstones." She laughs at that, a bright, happy sound that for a moment, presses back against the mounting dread.

"Deal!" she agrees, shoveling the rest of her food to finish faster. Predictably, they can't find the chess set—Sirius assumes it's in Reg's room, but he just hasn't had the heart to go in there. Gobstones is actually alright for once, even though he knows both Harri and Remus are letting him win. After a few rounds Remus cuts the game short.

"Alright," he says, wrinkling his nose at Sirius and Harri. "We're all due for baths."

Harri frowns reproachfully at the idea, but concedes, helping to pack away the game. The three of them troop upstairs, all finding different bathrooms to wash away the hardening puss from the game.

After, Sirius stops by Harri's room, where she's running a comb through her wet curls, dressed in an old sweater of Moony's. Sirius presses a kiss to the top of her head, helping her into bed. He draws the duvet up to her chin, smoothing back her hair.

"We'll be alright, Padfoot," she says sleepily. "Mum and Dad are looking after us, too." Sirius's throat closes a little, and he swallows hard to clear it.

"Yeah," he says softly. "We'll be alright." Harri drifts off to sleep, and for a while, Sirius just watches. When his anxiety won't wane, he shifts into Padfoot and settles at the foot of her bed, listening to the even rise and fall of her breath.

Remus doesn't get a wink of sleep all night, instead tossing and turning in bed. He finally pulls himself up and out when the sun rises, stumbling through getting ready. To his surprise, Sirius is already downstairs, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Alright?" he asks softly.

"Fine," Sirius says tightly. "I'll go get Harri up." As soon as he says it, they can hear little footsteps pattering around upstairs. Sirius sighs, gulping down the rest of his coffee.

"You ought to eat something, mate," Remus suggests gently. "Toast?"

Sirius shrugs, but takes some when Remus plates it for him. He pours himself a cup of tea—Merlin knows Kreacher won't do it for him—and joins him, waiting for Harri.

Breakfast is quick and nearly silent, as no one really has much to say. They load up and disapperate on the stoop, Harri on his back and Padfoot in his arms. It's not exactly an ideal situation, but it will do. Padfoot leaps down to change back, and Sirius runs a nervous hand through his hair.

The Hogshead is closed, but Aberforth ushers them in, scowling at the sight of them. At one of the furthest tables sits Dumbledore and a slight, thin man, presumably Geoffrey Abbott. He jumps up to stand, a nervous smile on his face.

"Geoffrey Abbott," he introduces himself, shaking everyone's hands, even Harri. "Er, about Ms. Potter…"

"We couldn't exactly find a sitter," Sirius remarks, a bit rude. Remus discreetly stamps on his foot to get him to behave. "Sorry."

"Quite alright," Abbott says, his smile going wry. "I've a daughter her age as well. I know that little girls like to stick close to their fathers." That earns a smile from both Harri and Sirius, who takes her hand.

"Right! First off, Mr. Black, I want to say that I believe in your innocence," Abbott says. "Good Gryffindor's who are training to be auror's do not up and join their enemies."

"Did, er, did you know me?" Sirius asks, sounding a bit nervous. Remus thinks hard, trying desperately to remember if he'd ever met Abbott before.

"Found you and your mates out of dorms at nearly one in the morning, armed with dungbombs my fifth year," Abbott says with a laugh. "It was the first time I'd ever assigned a detention."

Remus snorts, the memory hurrying back to him. Abbott had been nervous in his role of authority just as Remus had been nervous in his role of silvertongue. Dumbledore smiles, shaking his head.

"Geoffrey is a good man, Sirius," he says. "He's an exceptionally talented Legisparitus as well. In fact, I believe you'd said there was already a plan."

Abbott grimaces, and pulls out sever rolls of parchment from his bag.

"Right, Headmaster," he says. "Er, I've been reviewing the evidence and I believe I've got a plan, but I'm not very sure you're going to like the first part very much."

Neville Longbottom has had enough of his Gran's siblings' constant visits. None of them like him very much, and they always poke fun at his weight, his chubby cheeks, and his decided lack of magic. Gran doesn't even defend him.

Currently, he's pouting at the breakfast table, wrapped up in several towels and blankets while Gran fetches him tea to warn him up. Her brother Algie—Neville's least favorite uncle—had chucked him off Blackpool pier, yelling at Neville to save himself.

In the end, when it was apparent to them that Neville was indeed drowning, he'd been saved by a very disgruntled Gran.

"Can I have the crossword, Gran," he asks, sneaking one hand out of his veritable cocoon of blankets. Gran sighs but slides an ink pot and quill his way. She goes off to grab the paper. Tuesday editions are always great crossword, usually plant themed. Neville's been reading some very interesting books about plants recently.

Suddenly, Gran gasps, dropping Neville's tea.

"What?" he asks, suddenly frightened. "What happened, Gran?" She doesn't say anything but unfurls the front page of the paper out for him. Neville grimaces at the sight of that scary, old Black fellow. Above the picture of his screaming face reads the headline:

SIRIUS BLACK, NOTORIUS MURDERER AND KIDNAPPER, FINALLY APPREHENDED.

**A/N: So yeah, things aren't looking too ideal, but don't worry, there is a plan! Let me know what you thought!**


End file.
